Angel, Angel, Down we go, Together
by Houddy
Summary: This story is going to explore House going through detox. It is an alternate universe story where the finale twist never happened. It is Huddy and will have X rated parts. It will also be very dark, but I hope you will enjoy the ride.
1. Let Me Kiss You

**ANGEL, ANGEL DOWN WE GO TOGETHER**

**7 May 2009**

**LET ME KISS YOU**

"I always want to kiss you." The words floated off House's lips with an ease he didn't think possible. Was it really that easy to tell her the truth? After everything they'd been through last night, he felt she deserved at least that much.

Cuddy looked up into his eyes. She had been about to leave. She wasn't sure why she asked other than a burning need to know. It startled her, not the fact that he wanted to kiss her; she could see that in his eyes. It was the fact that he was admitting it, to her, that had thrown her.

If she hadn't been so surprised by his answer she might not have had the guts to lean toward him and press her lips against his, a move she had wanted to do every day she had known him. But she was surprised, surprised he had opened up to her, surprised he had admitted in the only way he knew how, that he had feelings for her, and she did reach out to him and press her lips firmly against his and she would have been content to leave it there. But then…

House felt a surge of pleasure rush through him. When he saw her leaning in, when he saw her getting closer, his mind told him, yelled at him to move away, that he was about to lose something. What it was his mind couldn't say, and so he ignored it, and he let her soft, gently mouth caress his chapped, weary lips. He let the warmth of her kiss awaken in him a need he had tried to bury for nearly twenty years.

She pulled away and he felt the loss immediately. He knew this was it. If ever there had been a moment when he needed to put aside his fears and take a chance on something he couldn't control, this was it. Every nerve ending in his body flashed into action, every muscle bid him to move toward her. He had lost that control that he held so dear.

He moved toward her, his hand closing the door, cutting off her chance of escape. He drew down on her, using his height to gain control. He still felt, somewhere deep inside, that she would try to flee, that it was too good to be true. This couldn't be true. After twenty years of longing it felt unreal somehow, the taste of her mouth on his, the warmth of her body against him. It wasn't real. And because it wasn't real, because he knew in his heart it could be nothing more than a very good dream, he went for it.

Cuddy felt him press against her. Felt the door slam shut behind her, shaking her to her core. His mouth was on hers as she felt her body slam against the door. The air rushed out of her as his mouth sunk deeper into hers.

He clawed at her jacket, the one she had put on only moments before. It was a personal battle to eliminate anything that stood between them. He wanted to feel her body, all of her body against his. He wanted to memorize every inch of her, the taste, the smell, the touch of her skin as he devoured her greedily.

Her heart was racing as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him as close as she could. Needing him closer. Her lips sucked on his, her teeth bit into his flesh gently. She had never needed him more than she did in that moment. She pushed aside any rational thought. She didn't want to think. She wanted to feel. She wanted to feel him and nothing more.

House stumbled back, pulling her with him, guiding her somewhere, anywhere, where he could have her completely. She stumbled along with him, their legs sloppily colliding as they walked awkwardly toward the couch, clothing coming off, her jacket at the door, now her shirt.

She felt the morning air touch her skin. It made her shiver against the heat of his touch. All her senses were heightened as she pulled at him, clawing at him like a wild animal devouring its prey. House was her prey and she was not going to let him get away until she had exhausted him completely.

House was a willing prey. He didn't care what she did to him. He fumbled with her pants, not willing to let go of her long enough to get his hands in between them, but desperate to get her undressed. He surrendered when he felt her legs wrap around his waist, sending him stumbling into a dresser.

He could wait no longer. With a strength he didn't know he had, without any sign of the pain that had crippled him for the past ten years, he carried her down the hall and into his bedroom. He knew no pain, no fear, no insecurity in that moment. All he knew was he was about to make love to the woman of his dreams and nothing would stop him.

Cuddy reached one arm out as they passed the threshold of his room and reached out for the door. She slammed it behind them, locking them in together, away from the rest of the world. House let her go, if only for a moment. In that moment he scrambled, pulling at his shirt, cursing as it became stuck on an elbow, tearing it slightly as he wrestled it over his head.

His fingers fumbled with the button on his pants, not easy on a good day with plenty of time, proving impossible now, with the anticipation building up inside him.

Her hands slippedover his, pushing them out of the way. Slowly she took the zipper pull in her hand and slid it down. Careful not to damage the growing bulge of his groin. His heart pounded so loudly he feared the neighbors could hear it. He yearned for her in a way he did Vicodin. He willed himself to trade one addiction for another.

He was not so delicate as he tore at her pants, sending the button flying across the room and yanking the zipper down hard. His hands slipped into the waist, wrapping around her and feeling for the soft mounds of flesh that made up that delightful ass. He squeezed them tightly as she wiggled out of her pants.

Then she climbed on top of him, pushing him onto the bed. She prowled down the length of his body like a cat in heat. He could feel that heat, pouring off of her. She started at his toes, working her way slowly up his legs. He cringed slightly as she reached the scar that marked his thigh. The scar she had given him. He pushed the thought out of his mind. He had resented her for ten years because of that scar and the pain it had caused him, but not this morning. This morning he didn't want to think about his leg, or the scar or anything. He just wanted to feel her.

He felt the force of her body as she pushed down on top of him. Her hair fell in his face. Nothing had ever pleased him more. Still, he brushed it away with his hand, his lean fingers gliding across the surface of her cheek. He tucked the hair neatly behind her ear feeling her shiver as his hand brushed the sensitive lobe.

He pulled her face toward his with the force of a man who knows what he wants. She came to him willingly. She wanted the same thing. With a catch of breath they collided. Tongues explored mouths, tangling and circling one another in a dance only they knew. His hands raced down her body, speeding down every curve. He wanted to memorize every inch of her before she came to her senses.

He felt her hand slip between them and almost exploded then and there. He started reciting every infectious disease, alphabetically, to postpone the inevitable. Her hand slowly closed around him, just tight enough to get a reaction. He felt a thick wetness drip out the tip and cursed under his breath.

She bit his lip as she pulled him in ferociously. She moaned as he filled her with the heat of his cock. Her legs tightened around his hips, trapping him beneath her, unable to move. This was her game. She was in charge and he was helpless to deny her anything.

He felt her moving on top of him. He couldn't see her because his eyes were closed and he was afraid that if he opened them, she would be gone.

His hands gripped her waist tightly. He could feel the muscles just beneath her skin contracting as she pushed down on top of him, sliding her body back with every thrust. She hadn't changed a bit. In college she knew exactly how to get what she wanted, and she was working him expertly once again, as though they had never stopped.

He cried out as she pushed harder, wanting more of him deep inside of her. Needing to feel all of him deep inside her.

Sex made her feel alive. It heightened her senses and energized her whole body. And she was energetic, when it came to sex. She rode House hard, pushing and pulling at him until he fell limp beneath her. Not letting him go limp until he had satisfied her completely. Then she collapsed on top of him, panting heavily, sweat dripping down her naked body.

House was left panting too, gasping for air. A dull, throbbing ache rose up between his legs. It was a good ache. The kind of ache men would die for. His legs lay spread out on the bed, airing himself out in the cool breeze of the ceiling fan. He felt her arm across his chest and rested his hand on it. It would seem a gentle move but really was meant to keep her from leaving. It was possessive. She was his and he didn't want her walking out on him again.

Cuddy sighed contentedly. She had waited for this for so long she feared it wouldn't live up to her expectations, but it did, oh how it did. Her legs trembled and ached from the loss of his body between them. Though she had one flung over his leg, it wasn't the same as feeling his bulk pinned down beneath her. She felt in control straddled on top of him. She felt empowered. It felt good. She felt good. She hadn't felt this good, this content, in a long time.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Neither of them wanted to be the one to break the spell. House stared up at the ceiling hoping this moment would never end. Cuddy curled up against him. She could feel his heart racing beneath her cheek. His chest rising and falling like a wave. It was putting her to sleep.

It had been a long, sleepless night but the worst seemed over, for now. House had made it through his first night of detox. Cuddy had been there, by his side. She was pleased that he had asked her to be the one to go through this with him. It was an inconvenience, and it had meant spending the night away from Rachel, but he needed her. Wilson couldn't have handled it. Wilson always caved. She had to be the one. She was the only one who could say no to him.

House pulled her closer, his strong arm wrapped tightly around her. He didn't want to lose her. He didn't want her slipping away if he let his grip slacken. He'd always feared losing her. He feared it so much that he never really had her to begin with. In college it had been just a fling. She had come on strong. She made him a proposition he couldn't refuse, but it was nothing more than a fling; a crush. He had convinced himself he was little more than a conquest, a notch on her bedpost. But here they were, nearly twenty five years and a lot of heartache later.

"I really should go." She hated saying it, but she had to swing by the house and check on Rachel before filing all the paperwork for House. She couldn't spend all morning in his arms, in his bed, even if that is the only place she wanted to be right now.

House frowned in the sun lit room, but he noticed she wasn't moving. She wasn't pushing him away, wasn't prying his arm off of hers. She was laying there, her head still resting against his chest, her hand still wrapped around his waist. Her leg still entwine in his. Her words said she had to go, but her body didn't seem to be listening.

Silence fell again. He wanted to tease her, ask her why she wasn't leaving, but he knew if he did the spell would be broken and she would be gone, either vanished into the dream she was or out the door to deal with her real life. He didn't like either option.

She opened her eyes, looking at the pink skin of his chest. She let her finger draw a circle around his nipple. She felt the hairs beneath her fingertip. He wasn't a particularly hairy man. Just right, in her opinion. Enough to prove his virility but not so much that she choked on it as she gently kissed his chest, as she was doing now.

House brushed her hair aside and pulled her up to face him. He wanted to say something to her but the words wouldn't come. They never could. That had always been the problem. When he looked at her he knew, he felt it, but when he tried to tell her how he felt, the words died in his throat, afraid to come out into the light of day. Afraid of her reaction.

He leaned down and kissed her so deeply she felt it in the tips of her toes. She felt it with every nerve in her body, all of which shot off at once. She melted in his arms and she was his. He might not know it, but she was his, completely and forever. He had a power over her that she refused to admit to. He always had. From the day she had read that article about him in the Michigan paper. She knew she had to meet him. She felt that she would have him in her life forever. She just never imagined the way that would turn out.

"I really should…" Cuddy was half way through her sentence when House slowly slid his arm off of her. She was right. It was time to go back to their real lives. She smiled sadly. She didn't want it to end, she wanted to stay in his arms forever, but she knew that one of them had to be the adult, and she knew it wouldn't be him.

"Take a shower?" House just couldn't let her leave yet. The thought killed him.

"I…wasn't going to…"

"You smell like me. People will talk." House rolled onto his back. He couldn't face her. He couldn't let her see how desperately he wanted her to stay.

Her hand reached out for him but hung in the air. She couldn't touch the cold shoulder he was giving her. "If you don't mind…"

"Do what you want." House gripped the pillow tightly. He wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her down to him, make love to her again. Instead he watched as she walked off toward the bathroom. He screamed into the pillow, cursing himself for his failure.

He could hear the water running. The walls of his apartment where thin. He heard the change in the flow of the water as she undoubtedly stepped inside the old claw foot tub. He closed his eyes and listened. Imagining her naked body glistening under the stream of hot, steaming water. He felt the urge rising again in his groin. It was an urge he usually had control over, but after the morning they had just had…

Cuddy held her face up to the shower head, letting the water pour down and mask her tears. She shouldn't have taken advantage of him, not when he was so vulnerable, not while he was detoxing. She screwed up and she ruined everything.

Lost in her own thoughts she didn't hear the door open, she didn't notice the sudden rush of cool air that fluttered the shower curtain. It wasn't until the shower curtain magically tore open and a naked form appeared in the steam that permeated the small bathroom that she realized she wasn't alone.

"I'm not letting you just leave." House placed his hand on the wall for support and carefully raised himself into the bathtub.

"House!" She was glad to see him. Her heart fluttered as his body brushed against hers. She reached out to help him, fearing he might slip on the smooth wet porcelain beneath their feet.

"You didn't think I was going to let you shower alone did you?" He tried to smile through a shot of pain. His hand automatically reached for his scar, rubbing it gently.

"Does it hurt?" She bit her lip. She shouldn't have asked. She could see it in his face.

House bit his tongue. "Yes, but it'll pass." Oh how he hoped it would pass.

"Turn around." Cuddy had thought about it, from the moment he stepped in the tub she was thinking about it.

"Should I trust you?" House turned slowly, even if he didn't.

"Probably not." She smiled.

House waited, his hands up against the wall to hold himself steady. He wasn't sure what she was doing until he felt her soapy hands slip down his back slowly. He put his head back and groaned softly. Her touch was so delicate, like a sheet of silk running down his back. Mixed with the water if felt like nothing he'd ever experienced.

She was thorough, going over the same spots over and over, going over every inch of his strong, broad back with care. Then she stopped, to relather. When she touched him again his expectations were so high that he trembled. She was rubbing his lower back, her hands slipping across his slight love handles, her fingers teasing his navel before slipping back again.

He felt the soap and water dripping down his bare ass and then he felt her hands, rubbing him slowly up and down, one hand for each cheek. And then her fingers slipped between his legs and he gasped loudly, embarrassingly. She smiled behind him, pleased with his reaction and she reached further toward the front, toward his growing manhood. Her fingers brushed the soft hairs deep between his legs.

He was breathing heavy, clutching the wall now, tormented by her touch and hungry for more. "Don't stop," he breathed despite his best efforts to keep quiet. He needed her to touch him.

"I won't," she purred in his ear. She was lost in the moment. Reality be damned. She wasn't thinking about work or Rachel or the repercussions of their actions. All she was thinking about was the pleasure she wanted to bring him right here, right now.

One hand slid around his body before wrapping itself tightly around his shaft. He could feel her body pressing closer against his back, her soft curls tickled his ass and he could feel her breasts rubbing against him as she moved slowly, rhythmically, her hand running up and down his shaft as her body forced itself against his.

She felt him rising in her hand. Felt him respond to her touch, felt his body trembling as his heart raced. She pulled her other hand around to his chest, holding it tightly over his heart, her nails gently scraping at his skin.

"Oh, God," House sighed. He felt the tension mounting within him. "Oh God," he felt the pressure building. "Oh good God!" He slammed his hand against the cool, wet tile wall. "Oh yes," he slammed it again as her lips clamped down firmly on his neck. She was sucking at his flesh greedily, pulling his racing blood to the surface. "NO!!!" She had stopped. "NO!!!! Don't stop!"

He felt her hands slowly turning his body, guiding him to her. He found himself finally looking into her beautiful face, freshly washed and more lovely than should be allowed. Silently she pulled him toward her. She rested one foot on the side of the tub giving him better access. She braced herself against the wall, closed her eyes and told him what every man longed to hear "take me," she said breathlessly, throwing her head back and pressing her body against his in offering.

House didn't need to be asked twice. He grabbed her tightly, pulling her leg up high on his back. He didn't need to be guided, he knew where to go and pushed his way in like a battering ram. She cried out at the sudden fullness, grabbing the wall for support.

He watched the water pouring over her face and her breasts as he pushed into her again and again. She gasped for breath but he didn't let up. He had waited too long for this. He was going to get as much of her as he could.

She felt weak, her legs trembling beneath her. Her hand slipped along the slick tiles and she let herself fall to the bottom of the tub. A small pool of water had covered the bottom and she splashed down into it, pulling him down on top of her.

The pain of impact was ignored as he crashed into her. He should have thought of this earlier. In his new position he was able to pull her legs up over the side of the tub. She didn't put up a fight, letting him maneuver her into any position he wanted. She was putty in his hands. She had surrendered.

House grabbed onto the sides of the tub, using it as leverage to drill into her with even greater force. She felt each thrust as her body slid along the smooth porcelain. The friction was overwhelming and she felt herself growing wetter and wetter.

Female ejaculation was rare. She had only experienced it once. House had never caused it before. When he felt the first trickles of fluid slipping out of her he thought he'd struck gold. "Oh yes," he said proudly.

Cuddy felt like her entire body was about to break into a million pieces. She wanted him to stop but she wanted him to go on forever. She devoured his flesh, caressing him with her lips, teasing him with her tongue, encouraging him with her hands.

She grabbed his ass and pulled it tightly toward her, forcing him deeper. "Just like that," she said encouragingly.

"Like this?" He asked, pushing down on her and watching her face twist with painful ecstasy.

"Oh God!" She grabbed the tub, her hands squeezing so tightly her knuckles turned white. "More."

"You want more?" He asked, not stopping, acquiescing to her demands.

"Yes," she surrendered.

There was no longer time to talk. Neither of them were capable of formulating even the simplest sentence as they panted and huffed and each worked to satisfy their own needs.

House felt something hot and sticky against his thigh. Much to his surprise, and delight, it hadn't come from him. "Did you just…" He smiled down at her. She looked beautiful, flushed and satisfied as she smiled up at him.

"You're good." Her hand was resting on his thigh, his bad thigh, and he wasn't pulling away. He barely seemed to notice.

"So are you." He forgot about cumming himself. He had been overshadowed, outplayed. This was one battle he didn't mind losing.

"But I really do need to shower." She had to go. Her babysitter would only stay so long. It was the third one she'd gone through since she took Rachel in. It was proving as hard for her to keep a babysitter as it was to keep an assistant. She still refused to believe that she was the problem.

"I know." He pulled himself to his feet.

She put her hand on his chest. "You can stay." She wanted him to stay, to watch her as she washed his scent off of her, as she buried their secret in a flood of water.

House smiled and sat on the edge of the tub. It was uncomfortable and he could kill for a Vicodin, but he stayed and watched as she lathered her body slowly, more slowly than she normally would. She was putting on a show for him. She was enjoying it as much as he was.

He helped her, running his soapy hands across her body. When he tried to go too far she slapped his hands away and told him to behave. He liked it. She wasn't pushing him away, only keeping him at a safe distance.

He toweled her off when they were done, and she did the same for him. They almost went too far when he slid the towel between her legs and began to rub her into excitement. "Stop it!" She pulled the towel out of his hands.

"I don't think I can do clinic duty today." He never missed a chance to negotiate with her.

She frowned. "I didn't expect you to. You don't have to come to work, if you're not feeling up to it. I'll have someone come stay with you…"

"I don't want someone to come stay with me." He pulled away instinctively.

"I'll have Wilson…"

"I don't want Wilson."

"House." She reached out and took his hand. He wanted to deny her that comfort, but he couldn't. The desire to touch her was too strong. "You are still detoxing. You can't be here alone."

"I don't want Wilson." He said it so that there could be no doubt what he really meant.

He saw her body collapse on itself. "I can't stay with you all the time House. I have to go home and check on Rachel. I have to go to the hospital and…"

He pulled her into a kiss. He wanted to weaken her defenses. He wanted her to feel guilty, so he brushed her hand across his marred thigh. He would use any trick in his book to get her to stay.

Cuddy pulled away from him, eventually. Tears were in her eyes that she pointlessly tried to fight back. She looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if she was doing the right thing before speaking. "Why don't you come with me?"

"To your house? To see the spawn?" House didn't like that idea. He wanted her to stay there, with him.

"RACHEL will probably be asleep, and you can stay in the living room. She'll never know you were there."

"She will when I make her mother scream like a wild whore." Now that she was dressed and the bliss of their love making was becoming nothing more than a memory, the pain was returning and the anger and the frustration and resentment. He was his old self again.

She looked at him, hurt. She sighed and reminded herself that he was in pain. "You can stay in my room. You won't even have to see her if you don't want to."

"Whatever you say, BOSS." He wasn't being playful. He was petulant and snippy.

She put her hand on his cheek tenderly. She knew he wouldn't appreciate it in that moment, but maybe later, looking back he would know that she was only trying to help. "I'm going to help you through this House. There is nothing you can do to change that."

He felt his heart breaking just a bit. She didn't deserve this. He shouldn't be forcing her to deal with it, but he wanted her there by his side. He needed her to see him through. He would have to hurt her because he couldn't bear to give her up.


	2. The Youngest Was the Most Loved

Glad you all liked the smut but I must warn you, this next chapter is a LOT darker.

THE YOUNGEST WAS THE MOST LOVED

Cuddy's house was quiet. Rachel was asleep and Anna, the babysitter was pouring over her school books. She was a med student. Cuddy had reservations about hiring her, but her father was a close friend which in Cuddy speak meant he was an important donor at the hospital and had insisted that his daughter get a job.

"Where have you been?" Anna jumped up off the couch and started to gather her things. "I'm going to be late for microbiology."

"I'm sorry…" Cuddy had to jump out of the way as Anna came speeding past her and out the door. Cuddy exhaled deeply once the girl was gone.

"Doesn't look like you'll be going to the hospital now." House sat down on the couch propping his feet up on the table and clasping his hands behind his head. Now she was free to wait on him hand and foot. "Could you make me some breakfast. I'm famished."

"The kitchen is through that door. Make your own breakfast. I'm going to check on my daughter." Cuddy wanted to kill him but she refrained, reminding herself for the millionth time that he was in pain and he was going through a difficult time and she needed to be patient.

"She's your rent-a-daughter," House corrected as he rose to his feet. "All the dirty diapers, none of the commitment." He watched her storm down the hall, concerned that it wasn't making him feel anything.

Cuddy slammed her bedroom door and fell onto her bed in tears. She wasn't sure she could do this. She was exhausted, and ashamed. She shouldn't have taken advantage of House…twice. She should have gotten Wilson to stay the night. She should have called in a professional. She was out of her league. But House had needed her. He needed HER, not Wilson, not anyone. He needed her, and she couldn't let him down.

"The medicine cabinet!" She realized that, though she had swept House's apartment for drugs, she had a few non-prescription pain killers in her own house and though it wasn't Vicodin, House would look for any port in a storm. He would look for any fix he could find.

She ran out of her bedroom. The bathroom light was on and the door half open. She called out to him and burst through the door.

House spun in surprise and a stream of yellow fluid sprayed the wall.

"Oh God!" Cuddy turned in embarrassment.

"I had to go." House finished his business, as best he could after the interruption and zipped himself up. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"I thought…" She was humiliated. She couldn't admit to him she didn't trust him.

"I know what you thought." House suddenly looked down at his clenched fist. Using all the strength he had left in his tormented body he took a step toward her. He took her hand in his and positioned it so her palm was up, then he emptied his fist into it. Five small tan pills fell into her hand. He couldn't look in her face. He couldn't bear the disappointment he would see there.

Cuddy sucked in a sob. "Is this all of them?" She closed her hand and pushed it into her pocket.

"Yes." House felt her arms wrap tightly around him. He didn't try to stop her.

"It's my fault," she said into his shoulder. "I should have checked the cabinets first." She was failing him.

"You can't protect me from every temptation." She certainly couldn't protect him from being tempted by her as his hands slowly slid across her back and he returned her embrace.

"I can try." Her voice was muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

Her words hung heavy between them. She had tried, for years, to protect him from himself and he had made it as difficult as possible for her. It was the basis of their relationship, a co-dependent hell that neither of them were willing to leave.

House was the first to pull away. He was afraid to be too close to her for too long. "You'd better check on Rachel."

"Why don't you come with me?" She slid her hand down his arm and wound their fingers together. She wasn't ready to let go.

"You can trust me alone for a few minutes." He pulled his hand away.

She winced. The truth that they both knew was that she couldn't trust him. Not for a few minutes, not for a few seconds. House was a clever, manipulative man who knew how to get what he wanted, especially from her. "Why don't you go get some rest?"

House didn't argue. He was tired, exhausted from the detox and the strenuous activities they had so recently participated in. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep and dream and never wake up. He let her go tend to her baby and stumbled achingly to the bedroom.

The curtains were open wide, shining the afternoon sun into the room. He shut them, shutting out the world and the light. He wanted dark loneliness so he could wallow in his pain. He locked the door. He didn't want her near him. He didn't trust himself near her. And he laid himself down on her soft bed. His head fell onto the pillow she rested hers on night after night. It smelled of her, a light perfumy scent, probably from her shampoo.

He lay in her bed, on his back, staring at her ceiling and wondering how many men had slept there before him. He told himself he wasn't jealous. He lied to himself a lot these days. He said it was only out of bored curiosity that he wondered how many times she had called out to God, gripping the bed post. How many times had she told someone she loved them and held them in her arms as she fell asleep? These thoughts plagued him as he drifted off to a restless rest.

Cuddy went to the nursery. Rachel was fast asleep. She picked the sleeping baby up in her arms and held her close. Rachel stirred and let out a small cry as Cuddy gently lulled her back to sleep. "Shhhh" she whispered maternally. "It's just Mommy." House was right, it wasn't Mommy. It was pretend Mommy. Rachel was hers, for now but not forever.

She went and sat in the rocking chair, gently rocking the child in her arms as she thought of the big child in her bed. Her mind searched through her room for medications. Were there any pain pills or left over flu medication? No. The only thing in her room were birth control pills, and she didn't think House would be that desperate.

She slipped her finger into Rachel's tiny hand and felt the small fingers close around it. Rachel was so helpless and fragile and needed someone to take care of her. House needed someone to take care of him too. She looked toward the door that lead to the hallway that led to her room. She hoped he was getting the rest he needed.

Rachel stirred again in her arms, stretching out her tiny body as she woke for real. "Hi." Cuddy's face lit up as she smiled down at her child. "Are you hungry?" She got up and carried Rachel to the kitchen to get her a bottle.

House woke in a cold sweat. He reached down and grabbed his leg. The pain was getting worse. He knew it would. It would get worse before it got better. His body was reacting, screaming at him to medicate. He pulled himself out of bed and began rummaging through her drawers. Immediately he found the small dial of pills, her birth control. He tossed it aside. There was nothing he could get from that. He kept searching.

Cuddy hummed to her daughter as she prepared the bottle. Rachel was now strapped firmly into her high chair, waiting patiently for what she knew was coming. It was noon, lunch time, and she always got her bottle at lunch time. Usually that strange old lady that came during the day gave it to her, but for some reason it was the woman with the dark hair. That was okay too. She had a nice soothing voice.

House limped to the master bathroom, a purple room in desperate need of a facelift. With the money Cuddy must be making at the hospital he was surprised she didn't have one of those fancy whirlpool tubs and updated everything. Instead he pulled open the house's original medicine cabinet and began foraging for anything to take the edge off.

Cuddy put the bottle up to Rachel's mouth and watched proudly as the baby clamped her tiny hands onto its sides. She couldn't possibly hold it herself, so Cuddy kept one hand on the end of the bottle as Rachel sucked greedily.

Normally her day nanny, Rita, took care of all this, but Cuddy had called her as soon as she and House arrived and told her to take the day off. She didn't think House would appreciate having anyone else see him like this. She wasn't sure she wanted the sweet old lady to see her bringing a man like House into her home and around her baby.

Rachel continued to drink her formula as House cursed and bent down to check the cabinet under the sink. A sharp pain decided to rear its ugly head at just that moment, and the instability of bending coupled with the pain sent him crashing to the floor with a shriek.

"House!" Cuddy dropped the bottle on Rachel's tray and ran to the bedroom. The door was locked. "House! Are you alright?" She screamed through the door as Rachel began to cry in the other room. Cuddy looked back at the kitchen. She giggled the doorknob to her bedroom. She couldn't handle this. "House, please answer me."

Rachel screamed. She didn't like the commotion. She was used to a nice, quiet lunch with the old lady with the wild hair. She would tell her stories as she fed her. Rachel had no idea what the words she was saying meant, but she listened anyway, afraid the nourishment would be taken away if she didn't.

Cuddy couldn't think. Her heart was pounding. House could be hurt, but her baby needed her. "Rachel, shhhh, Mommy's here. Please. Be quiet. Mommy will be right there." She turned to the door and with all her might, she slammed against it. Once, twice, until the door gave way. Rachel screamed in the distance. She did not like lunch with Mommy at all.

House was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor. Cuddy checked him carefully before turning him onto his back. "House, please, talk to me."House wasn't breathing, so she leaned over and did it for him. "House? Please?" Rachel's jealous wailing filled her head.

House's body jerked. He felt the breath starting to flow again. He had had the wind knocked out of him when he fell. Now he had a massive headache. "Would you shut that kid up?" He asked groggily.

Cuddy looked at him for a moment then hurried to check on her daughter. Rachel fell silent almost as soon as she was picked up. She was the focus of attention again and all was right with the world. Cuddy held her tightly as she began to cry. She knew that no one was going to come and pick her up and make it all better so she just kept crying.

House pulled himself off the floor. He didn't blame her for walking out on him, and he was glad the damned kid had finally shut up, but he wanted her with him now. He wanted her to come and hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright even though they both knew it was a crock of bull. He envied that baby as he walked out into the hall and caught a glimpse of them, mother comforting child, through the kitchen door.

She was moving around and bouncing the baby in her arms, probably trying to calm its nerves. He hated that baby. In that moment he wished it dead. He was in pain, clutching the wall just to stay standing, and that baby had taken away his only strength. Cuddy was the only way he was going to get through this, but he couldn't have her, not all to himself. This whole thing was pointless.

Cuddy saw him as she turned in her child calming walk. She stopped for a moment. He was leaning against the wall like a broken doll. She wanted to run over and help him, but she had Rachel. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the tears come. He couldn't watch her cry. He turned and headed back to her bedroom.

She looked down at her daughter and whispered "I don't know what to do." Rachel just looked back at her, unsure what she was saying, but happy that she had won. Cuddy collapsed into a chair and wept, her daughter held tightly in her arms while House fell to the floor in agony, biting his tongue to stop from calling out to her. She wasn't his anymore and he wasn't going to win her back like this.


	3. Nowhere Fast

**NOWHERE FAST**

Cuddy finally put Rachel back in her crib. The baby was sleeping soundly, content to know that all was once again right in her world. Cuddy headed back to the kitchen and picked up the phone. She was going to call Wilson, the only person she could think of who could help. Then she thought of House. If House had wanted Wilson to know about this, he would have gone to him. She put the phone down and headed toward her bedroom. She was going to have to do this alone.

The door was shut. She knocked hesitantly. It was her own room, but she was afraid to enter unannounced. She heard something, not a voice, more like something moving, maybe furniture across her plush rug. "I'm coming in," she warned him while slowly opening the door.

House looked up at her from his place on the rug. He was clutching his leg and his face was red with pain.

"Why didn't you call for me?" She ran to his side, kneeling beside him. She tried to cradle his head in her lap but he resisted her attempt. He didn't want to be touched.

"You had other priorities," House pointed out. He turned his back to her as he pulled himself off the floor. He could have done it sooner, but refused to admit he was waiting for her to find him first.

"House…." Her voice broke in pain.

"I'm going home." He couldn't look at her. He kept his back turned but it didn't stop her taking his arm and forcing him to face her.

"Not alone you're not!"

"You're not my keeper." House pulled his arm away.

"No, but I'm your friend, and I can't let you…"

"It's not your decision." House tried to walk off. He intended to storm off in an indignant fury but his cursed leg stopped him. He bent over in pain and she was once again at his side. Why did she keep doing that?

"You're right House, it's not my decision." She helped him to right himself. "If you want to go, I can't stop you. But don't leave just to hurt me."

"Get over yourself."

His words cut deep, but she didn't give up. She couldn't. This was too important. "I want you to stay. I will understand if you don't."

He wanted to stay but he chose to leave. He told himself, as he was walking out the door, that he was doing it for her. She offered to drive him anywhere he wanted to go but he called a cab. He needed to be away from her. He needed to be anywhere she wasn't.

As soon as he left she called Wilson. She needed someone to talk to. Wilson was the only person she knew who would understand.

"I'll be right over." Wilson jumped at the chance to help the damsel in distress.

"No. Stay at the hospital. He might come to you or try to reach you." She hoped that was where House was headed. If it wasn't, she didn't know what she would do.

"I'm going to go look for him. I'll call you if I hear from him." Wilson wanted to do something, something more than sit around and hope his friend showed up, so as soon as she hung up, he went to troll the free clinics. If House was jonesing for drugs, that's the first place he'd look.

There was nothing Cuddy could do but pace. It was too late to call Rita and what if she did? Where would she go? Wilson knew House's haunts, not her. She could go to the hospital, there were a couple more hours to the work day, but she wouldn't get anything done, and she would have to face his team, answer a million questions about where he was and why he hadn't shown up for work. And there was Rachel. She hadn't really seen her in over 24 hours. She should stay with her daughter.

She went and checked on Rachel. She was awake, gurgling up at the mobile that circled above her. Cuddy smiled at her and picked her up. "At least I have you." She almost said she would always have her, but House was right, Rachel could be taken away at any moment. She wasn't really hers to keep.

"Want Mommy to read you a story?" Rachel couldn't answer the question. She really didn't have an opinion. She was just happy that her quiet home was quiet once more and that the dark haired lady was paying attention to her.

Cuddy sat in the rocker and pulled out Rachel's favorite book, The Pokey Little Puppy. She knew it was Rachel's favorite because the baby always pointed at the pictures and made that gurgling laugh Cuddy found adorable. It wasn't a very long book so she went through two more before looking anxiously at the clock.

Wilson should have called her by now. She called him but he had nothing new to tell her. Not the first time, not the second time, not the fifth time. He stopped picking up after that.

He had tried all the clinics. He had checked every emergency room in the greater Plainsboro area. He had even tried PPTH. There was no sign of House. He wasn't at home, he wasn't at Joe's or any of the other seedy bars in town. It was like he had vanished.

He finally called Cuddy back, defeated. "I don't know where he is."

"He hasn't called?" It wasn't like House to not talk to Wilson. She didn't think they could function without talking to each other at least once an hour.

"Nothing." Wilson wished he had better news. He always wished he had better news. "It doesn't mean anything though Lisa. He'll know we're looking for him. He's probably hiding somewhere."

"Of course he's hiding somewhere. He doesn't want to be found. Why do you think that is Wilson?" She was losing her temper. Her nerves were in tatters.

"He's not looking for drugs." Wilson got an image of his friend in some seedy alley handing over a wad of cash.

"Right, because he's too ethical for that." Cuddy went and shut Rachel's door. She didn't want her to overhear.

"Lisa, there's no reason to think the worst." Wilson was doing enough of that for both of them.

"I'm going to start calling emergency rooms. If he is admitted, I want to know right away." She had enough pull at the local hospitals to request such information.

"Just take care of Rachel. I'll make the calls."

Cuddy's temper flared. "I am capable of taking care of my daughter and House."

"Are you?" Wilson remained calm, which only infuriated her more. He listened to the dial tone for a moment before accepting that she had hung up on him.

Cuddy had never felt more impotent in her life. She picked up the phone and started to dial her nanny. She put the phone down again. Rachel was her responsibility. She should stay. House was going to have to take care of himself for a change.


	4. Last Night I Drempt That Somebody Loved

**LAST NIGHT I DREMPT THAT SOMEBODY LOVED ME**

House sat and stared into the bottom of his glass. A few half melted ice cubes jingled around as he sifted for the last drop of alcohol. He hadn't moved from the spot for over two hours, since his last bathroom break. The bartender had been shooting him dirty looks for a while now.

"Another," he nodded to the bartender.

"I think you've had enough." The bartender, Rick, took House's glass without providing him another.

"I demand to be served." House pounded his hand on the bar.

Rick had already given House more than he should, though he'd made House cough up the keys to his bike in exchange. He hadn't had a drunk driver leave his bar in three years, he wasn't about to start now.

"I've already given you more than I should." The bartender turned back to the sink and started rinsing out House's glass.

It was late, past closing time, but Rick hadn't had the heart to throw House out on his ear. He seemed like a man in desperate need of a drink and a friendly ear. He had been right about the drink, but this man wasn't a talker. He just sat at the bar silently throwing back whiskey like it was water.

"Do you have someone you could call?" It was something he had to ask. This man seemed so alone in the world.

House didn't want to call her but Wilson was his only other choice and Wilson would give him a lecture he really didn't need to hear right now.

"Hello?" Her voice had sounded sleepy. He must have woken her up.

"Is me, Ouse." House slurred his words like a pro.

"House?" She sounded annoyed. She always sounded annoyed when she talked to him. He thought it was cute how she pretended not to want to jump his bones every time they were in a room together, or in this case on the phone. He was too drunk at the moment to realize why she would be particularly annoyed right now. "Where the hell have you been?" She must have fallen asleep at her desk. Her face was numb where it had fallen against an open file.

"Dyou have n-e idea how drung Iam?" He burped for good measure.

"You need to tell me where you are." She sighed and looked at her clock. It was past midnight.

House looked at Rick. "Whermi?" He felt the phone vanish from his hands. He tried to listen as Rick gave Cuddy directions.

House took back the phone as soon as Rick stopped talking. He had a great joke and he wanted to get it out before he forgot it. "Are you gonna cum fer me?" It didn't sound nearly as dirty out loud as he had imagined it would.

Her answer sounded suspiciously like a dial tone. House listened for a while before hanging up.

It was now twenty minutes later, and Rick was putting chairs on tables. "Shesh coming," House assured him.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Rick mumbled, throwing the last heavy wooden chair onto its matching table and wondering what he was going to do with this guy.

His prayers were answered when Cuddy appeared at the door, knocking angrily. Rick hurried to the door, wanting to get the blame game over with. "How could you let him get this drunk?" She pushed past him and headed toward the crumpled House.

"I'm not his keeper." It was Rick's answer to all the irate wives. Not that she was House's wife; he'd been told many times that that day that they were NOT a couple, though he was having a hard time believing it.

"He' snot the boss of me." House reiterated, trying to get out of his chair and stumbling across the floor. Luckily Rick had put up a chair very close by and House grabbed onto its leg for support. He thought he'd rather be grabbing onto Cuddy's leg but, any port in a storm.

Cuddy sighed. "Let's go." She shot Rick a disapproving glance as House latched onto her for the walk out the door.

"Snot his fault," House slurred. It wasn't anybodies fault, really. House liked getting drunk. He liked not feeling the pain, both physical and mental, of his daily life. He had thought about getting more Vicodin. He thought Wilson didn't know he was detoxing. Wilson would have given him a new prescription. Then he saw the look of disappointment on her face. Every time he tried to turn to pills he saw it, floating in his mind, warning him that if he screwed up one more time he would lose her. He knew she didn't need him anymore. She had a baby to take care of now. He was nothing more to her than a residual burden.

"Whose fault is it House?" Cuddy shoved him rather forcefully into the car.

"Is your fault. Everything's your fault." He was trying with drunken ineloquence to play the guilt card. It didn't work this time.

"Go to hell." She shoved his seat belt on and slammed the door in his face.

"To late. I'm aready dere." He watched her circle around to the driver's side. First there was one of her, then two, then back to one as the alcohol sloshed around in his brain. He wasn't sure what he'd even blamed her for.

As she got into the driver's seat House snooped around in her car. Tissues, a tube of lipstick, nothing of much interest…except… "What dis?" He held a torn black square packet with the word Trojan written across it in white letters.

"Nothing." Cuddy grabbed at it but House, even drunk, moved swiftly to avoid her. "Stended Pleasure?" He smiled. It hadn't been that long ago that he couldn't figure out what he was holding.

"Whosit for?" House swayed as he stared at the now empty condom wrapper.

"Not you!" She snapped as the car picked up speed.

House was drunk, but that didn't stop the wheels from turning. She'd had sex in the car. The most obvious reason to do that was because she didn't want to have sex at home. The main reason for that would be she didn't want to wake the baby, which meant she'd has sex in the three weeks since she'd had Rachel. "You have a boyfend!"

"Had."

"Drove another one away?"

"Shut up House." She should have called Wilson and had him come pick the drunk up.

"I could help you ease your pain." He leaned over and put his hand on her leg.

"You couldn't help me out of a paper bag." She quickly removed his hand and put it back in his own lap.

"I could help you out of those pants." His hand returned, this time stumbling sloppily over the button of her jeans.

"Not gonna happen." She picked up his hand, again, and dropped it in his lap, again.

"It already did, and it will ageen." He started blinking rapidly, trying to keep her image from going wobbly.

She pulled the car to a screeching halt on the side of the road. "House, what did you take?"

"What?" House wondered if he could sue her for whiplash as he rubbed his neck.

"What drug did you take House?" She started checking his pupils. It was futile since they were suffering from copious amounts of alcohol like the rest of him.

"I didn't take…"

"You're not just drunk House." She knew him drunk. She'd seen it before. This was something more.

"We had sex." He was playing with her hair now. She had pretty hair. He liked it when it was a little wild and curly.

She took a deep breath. "Yes House, we had sex. It was a mistake." She was trying to be patient, but it wasn't easy.

"Was it?" He looked at her earnestly. Is that what she thought?

"You were going through detox."

"I was sober. For the first time in my life I was completely sober."

"You were in pain."

"Then what's your excuse?"

He had silenced her.

"You took advantage of me in my moment of weakness. I have the right to know why."

"I…" she fidgeted with the steering wheel, with the seatbelt that was suddenly much too tight around her chest, she pushed his hand away from her hair, all while trying to avoid answering the question.

"Do you love me?" He was still drunk enough to ask. But as he watched her face he realized quickly that he had gone too far. She would forgive him as she always did but he crossed a line. Luckily, he was too drunk to care.

He dared to put his hand under her chin and pull her face to face his. "Look me in the eye and tell me you love him." He was a human lie detector. He would know if she was lying to him. He always did.

"You're drunk, House." She started the car.

"You said I was more than drunk, but I didn't ask you for your medical opinion. I asked you if you love me." House wasn't going to let her get away that easily. He had to hear her say it. If she would only no, maybe, just maybe he would find the strength to let her go.

She snapped. She hadn't gotten any sleep in weeks. Rachel kept her up most nights, House kept her up last night. She had finally reached her breaking point. "Of course I love you. I have always loved you. I wouldn't be here if I didn't love you House."

"Then take me home." House turned away from her. He didn't want her reading anything in his eyes. He didn't want her to see the triumph, the elation; he didn't want her to see his fear either. The stakes had just been raised and wasn't sure he could afford them.

Cuddy pulled back onto the road and drove to House's apartment, fuming as she accelerated far faster than was legally allowed. She had let him manipulate her, again. Why was she so weak around him?

He was passed out by the time they got to his apartment. She found a parking space and called Anna. She wasn't going to be home again tonight. She ignored the girls protests and reminded her that her father wanted her to prove herself.

"House?" She shook him. "House, I can't carry you." She shoved him hard. It felt rather cathartic.

"I'm up!" House protested, his long limbs flailing around to protect him.

"Then get out. You're home."

"Aren't you going to walk me to my door?" He fumbled with the door latch. His speech had stopped slurring ages ago, but he was still having some technical difficulties physically. He hoped it didn't extend to the really important bits.

"Obviously I have no choice." Cuddy groaned and got out of the car. He had pulled himself out and fell back against the car having lost his balance. She rushed over and helped him. House happily put one arm over her shoulder as she slipped hers around his waist. She let him put his weight against her as they slowly headed for his front door.

"I don't deserve you, Cuddy." He was moving into that stage of drunkenness where he just babbled out whatever was in his head.

"No, you don't." Cuddy searched her pocket for the keys Rick the bartender had given her. They were the keys to House's apartment, his bike, his car and his office. They were all held together by a "Yankees" key chain. She smirked as she put the key in the lock.

"Did Wilson get you this?"

"He thought it was funny." House fumbled into the living room behind her. He thought she might have loosened her grip on him, hoping he'd fall. "And don't throw me on the ground," he thought about it a moment, "unless you plan on joining me."

"Not tonight," she led him to the couch.

"How about tomorrow night?" House pulled her down beside him, trying to hide it under the guise of falling drunkenly. The look on her face told him she was on to his evil little plan. Still, she didn't get up for a moment.

"How about you get some rest." She pulled herself back to her feet and went to get a blanket.

"Fix me a drink, woman," House demanded.

"You've had enough."

"Fix yourself a drink." House smiled at her. "You know I hate being drunk alone."

"And yet you do it so often." She got up and poured herself a scotch. Her brain was telling her not to. It was shouting at the top of its lungs, but Cuddy wasn't one to follow her brain, not when it came to House. She shut it up with a quick gulp of the amber liquid.

"I'm not doing it now." House smiled as he put his arm on the back of the couch, waiting for her to melt into it. Much to his surprise, she did. She leaned against him, her glass in her hand and swirled the liquid around.

"You can't drink when you're detoxing." She sounded like she was giving up.

"Since when do I follow rules?" House was proud of his rebellion.

"You're only making it harder for…"

"Oh, the only one making anything harder is you." He put his hand on her leg and she quickly took it off and put it back on his own.

House watched as her glass slowly emptied. "I have tequila." Tequila was the surest way to get a woman out of her panties. It had worked on her in college, and a few years ago at that convention.

"I'm fine with this."

She seemed sad. House watched her as she studied the bottom of her glass. He wondered if she was contemplating the same deep and meaningful things he was when he was back at the bar.

"I want you to tell me how you feel." She finally said what had been on her mind.

"I feel horny."

"Forget it," she sighed heavily and took another long sip.

"You want me to tell you I love you?"

"I want to know where this is going." She was talking to the bottom of her now empty glass.

House reached over and took it out of her hand. "Would it get you undressed?"

"It wouldn't hurt." She just wanted to hear him say it. He didn't even have to mean it. She just wanted to hear those words come out of his mouth.

House wanted to see her get undressed. He wanted to tell her he loved her. The one thing he didn't want to do was pass out, which is exactly what he did.

House woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life. His head was pounding like seven very angry dwarves were mining for jewels deep in the depths of his scull. He looked around him, hoping that the strange blurriness was from his half opened eyes and not a sign that there had been a nuclear fallout on New Jersey's own little three mile island.

True to her word, Cuddy hadn't left him. She was curled up in the crook of his arm, her breath slow and steady. He saw the bottle of scotch, nearly empty, on the coffee table and leaned in to sniff her breath.

He looked down at his body, and much to his utter disappointment, he was still dressed. Even more disappointing was the fact that she was still dressed. Nothing had happened. The night had been a failure. He brushed the hair out of her face with regret as he remembered the many nights they'd fallen asleep while he helped her study. She'd been much younger then, much more naïve, and far more impressed with the great Dr. Gregory House. What he wouldn't give to have her look at him again the way she did then.

She shifted as he tried to slide out from under her. He couldn't hold his drinks the way he used to, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd visited the bathroom. He froze when he thought she might wake up, but she didn't. She only nestled herself into the throw pillow when she lost the pillow of his warm chest.

House crept into the bathroom and unzipped his fly. He barely had time to aim before a solid yellow stream began to pour into the bowl. "Ah," there was nothing like the sweet relief of a visit to the toilet after a night of drinking. He almost felt his head clearing as his body expelled the foul drink.

It seemed like ages before the stream trickled down to small drops. It must have been, too, because when he got back to the living room, she was gone.

He bent over and picked up a pillow from the floor. It was warm from her body. He noticed a small note next to it. She'd had time to write a note? How long had he peed?

He read the note out loud, to the empty room. "I called Wilson. He's on his way." She hadn't signed her name. It's not like she had to. No one else could have left him the note, but he secretly wanted to see 'love Cuddy' fluidly sprawled along the bottom of the small page.

He headed for the bedroom, his pillow and note in hand. He planned on sleeping the day away. He knew she'd gone home. He knew she had gone to see her daughter. He laid down on the bad and breathed the pillow in deeply, trying to pull the memories of last night out of the dark corners of his mind. Only flashes of a bar, a car, a fight, flickered through his mind. Then the words drifted in like a dream. "Of course I love you." She had said "Of course I love you", like it was obvious, like he should have known all along.

"DAMN!" He threw his cane across the room, shattering the glass that housed a vintage Hendrix poster into a million pieces. All this time…How could he have been so stupid?


	5. Hold On To Your Friends

**HOLD ON TO YOUR FRIENDS**

House took a cold shower. He had been drug free for over twenty four hours and was feeling every second of it. The cool water felt only marginally therapeutic as it pounded down on his scared flesh. He stayed under the hard spray of water until he couldn't stand it any longer. Reluctantly he turned off the faucet and stepped carefully out of the tub.

His mind wandered to yesterday morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He felt like a different man now. He was in more pain, but his mind was clear. Amber was gone. She hadn't come back since he slept with Cuddy. If he were a more romantic man he might read something into that. Instead he was just glad to be rid of her. He hadn't cared about her in life and certainly didn't want to hang out with her now that she was dead.

He toweled off and remembered how she had done it yesterday. Not Amber, but Cuddy. She had taken her time, rubbing him down with care. Now he was stuck doing it alone, nothing to distract him from the pain but silence while she went about her real life.

He dressed in a pair of boxers and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen. He didn't notice the back of a dark head sitting in the big comfy chair in the living room. His mind was focused on food and his eyes were focused on the fridge. He reached in and pulled out a carton of orange juice. He wasn't sure how old it was, but he didn't really care either. A minute later he was leaning against the counter looking his friend in the eyes. "Did she tell you we had sex?" He casually drained the carton.

"What? No? I…she said you were detoxing and I should come see you."

"So nothing about the sex?" House didn't expect her to tell Wilson about her sex life, but he really didn't want to talk about the other thing just yet.

"You had sex with Cuddy?" Luckily Wilson was as easy to sidetrack as Cuddy was.

"Twice." House grinned. He was actually rather proud of the fact that, it had been a couple of years since he hired his last prostitute, yet he had still managed to get it up twice in one morning.

"When? How?"

"If you have to ask how…well that explains why you've been divorced three times."

"What did you do?" Wilson couldn't imagine Cuddy giving in to House, she wouldn't.

"You want details?" House was more than willing to give them.

"NO!" Wilson covered his ears quickly, just in case. "I don't want to hear it." Images of House being ridden by Cuddy were more than his imagination could handle.

House turned and tossed the now empty orange juice carton into the trash. "Ten points!" He declared as it went in without trouble.

"So, do you want to talk?" Wilson got up from his seat and walked into the kitchen.

House walked out. "Nope."

Wilson decided it was too soon to push and followed his friend back into the living room. "The World Series of Poker is on."

House tossed the remote to his friend.

Cuddy walked into the Diagnostics Office with determination. She had practiced what she would say in her office for the past half hour, but now that she was facing the anxious, questioning faces of House's staff, she forgot the eloquent speech she had prepared.

"Where's House?" Foreman demanded.

"He's taking a leave of absence." Cuddy braced herself for the barrage of questions that now fell upon her. She tried to answer the few questions she could hear amid their verbal attack. "He's going through some personal issues"…"I don't know when he will be back"…"you will still be taking cases"…"I don't have a timeline for that…" she felt weary. They had a right to know what was going on, but she wasn't even sure what was going on right now. "Here's your next case." She handed a file to Foreman and left before any of them could stop her.

She walked quickly down the hall, the click of her heels echoing against the floor. A few people asked her questions that she answered dismissively. She needed to talk to Dr. Mirren.

Dr. Mirren was in his office. He was the head of psychology and his specialty just happened to be addiction. "Do you have a moment?" Cuddy poked her head into his office. She knew that as head of the hospital, he wouldn't refuse her. Yearly reviews were coming and everyone was sucking up to her.

"Come in, come in." He put aside what he was working on and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

She took a deep breath. "House is going through detox."

"Again?" Dr. Mirren had been through this before, having been in charge of House's last attempt to detox. He noticed the look on Cuddy's face and quickly changed his approach. "Where is he?"

"At home." She knew he wasn't going to approve of that answer.

"He's doing this on his own?" Merrin didn't approve. House had been committed to his own detox program here at the hospital and had found a way to cheat. There was no way he could do it on his own.

"I've been with him the past couple days. Dr. Wilson is with him now." She hoped it was going well.

"Still…" Walters was worried. He knew, everyone knew, Cuddy had a far too emotional relationship with House. Wilson did too. "He should be getting professional help."

"He won't." It was pointless to even suggest it.

"Then what is it you want from me?"

Cuddy thought about that. She wasn't sure what she wanted, maybe just someone to talk to, maybe someone to tell her she wasn't screwing up her friend's life by trying to help. "Advice?" It was all she could think of.

Fortunately, one of Dr. Mirren's favorite things to do was give advice. He started by handing her several pamphlets that talked about how to deal with a loved one while they detox. Then he spent the next couple hours telling her personal stories about the countless patients he had helped through the often difficult transition.

She listened intently, picking and choosing what she found useful. She couldn't imagine most of if working on House, but she had to stay and listen since she was the one who asked. As Mirren prattled on about this one particularly difficult patient, she wondered how House was doing. She didn't like being away from him. It wasn't so much that she didn't trust Wilson. She just didn't think Wilson could say no to House as well as she could, which wasn't all that well to begin with.

Wilson had been staring at his friend for the past twenty minutes. There was so much he wanted to say. "Are you really clean?" It was the simplest way to get at the heart of things. Wilson mistakenly believed he could tell when his friend was lying to him.

"My body, yes, but my mind is as filthy as ever."

Wilson ignored his joke. "Cuddy said you went out drinking last night."

"Cuddy says a lot, apparently."

"She's worried about you." Wilson spoke with grave earnestness.

"She has more important things to worry about." House was flipping through the channels trying to find naked mud wrestling or something similar to get Wilson off his back.

"You are important to her House. You're important to me."

"And Vicodin is important to me." He settled on Spike. Someone was bound to take their shirt off eventually on that channel.

Wilson studied his face. "You're still taking it!"

House flared. "How the hell can I be? She took everything. EVERYTHING. There isn't even a damned vitamin in this apartment."

"She found it all?"

"Everything."

"What about the hidden stash in your book case?" Wilson got up to look.

"Gone."

"In the shoebox in your closet?" He headed that way after confirming the book case stash was gone.

"Flushed it."

"Under your bed?"

"I told you she took it all, but go ahead and look, just do it quietly. I'm trying to watch this." What he was trying to watch appeared to be some show about extreme weapons. He wasn't really trying to watch it, just trying to shut up, but it worked. Wilson was silent as he searched the rest of the apartment.

"Wow, she got it all." Wilson finally returned and sat down.

House shot him a deadly glare. "I told you that. But thanks for believing me."

"House," Wilson flopped down on the couch beside his friend. "It would be pretty naïve of me to believe everything you say."

"And yet, I still have hope," House deadpanned.

"How are you coping?" Wilson got serious again. He leaned in and looked House in the eye, the way he did with his patients when he talked to them about their cancer.

"Lots of rampant, wild, animal sex." House was staring at the television. At least it didn't look back at him with pity.

"Is there anything I can do?" Wilson wanted to take his hand, like he did his patients, but he knew better.

"I'm not having sex with you." House finally looked at his friend. It was easier to look at the people who pitied him when he was making fun of their concern.

"I…" Wilson gave up and turned his attention to the show they were not watching.

Cuddy returned to her office, disappointed. She wasn't sure what she had hoped for, but she hadn't gotten it. She was so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed Allison Cameron, who was sitting at her desk waiting for her.

Cameron jumped to her feet when she heard the door, and spun to face her boss. "Is House okay?" She had heard. The hospital had a very small grapevine and it didn't take long for news to travel across it.

"He's fine." Cuddy walked passed her and took her seat at the head of the desk.

"You're lying. I can tell." Cameron wasn't going to back down. Her feelings for House may have dulled from raging lust to respectful concern, but she still cared about him deeply.

"It's really none of your business. You don't work for him anymore." Cuddy stared into the girl's eyes challengingly.

Cameron backed down a little. "I don't need to work for him to care."

"He just needs some time off." Cuddy buried the brochures in her desk drawer before Cameron could see them.

"Why now?" Cameron sounded like a child trying on rebellion for the first time. She was challenging but tentative.

"I don't know," Cuddy lied. She had gotten far better at it as the years passed. House had taught her well.

"I'll call him," Cameron said daringly.

"Go right ahead." Cuddy knew he wouldn't answer, so there was no point fighting with the girl.

Cameron was startled. She was expecting a fight. Unprepared for cooperation, she gave in and sat back down again. She took a moment to study her hands, feeling slapped down and apologetic. "I just want to know if he's alright."

Cuddy looked her in the eyes and very truthfully said, "He will be." And she believed that.

Cameron accepted that little glimmer of hope and left. Now alone, Cuddy pulled out the brochures and started flipping through page after page of predictable advice. None of it was groundbreaking, and none of it would ever work on House. She tossed them in the trash and called Wilson.

"How is he doing?" She asked when she heard her co-conspirators voice.

"He's in pain." Wilson looked at his friend.

"Is that Cuddy?" House reached for the phone. "Let me talk to her."

"I'll be right back." Wilson got up and walked into the other room. Satisfied that House was not listening he continued his conversation. "He's ignoring any attempts to talk about the detox."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really." Wilson dropped down onto House's bed. "You did a good job of cleaning the place out."

"House told me where to look." Cuddy thought back on that night and found her thoughts more pleasant than she expected.

"He did?" Wilson was surprised and leaned over trying to look through the door at his friend. Maybe he had underestimated him.

"I really think he's ready. I think he finally wants to do this." She hoped, and it oozed through every word she spoke.

"But why now?" Wilson didn't get it. He'd tried for years to make House realize he needed to get Vicodin out of his life. What had changed?

"I don't know, but we have to support him Wilson. No tricks. No lies." It was a veiled accusation at Wilson's handling of House in the past. "I want him to be successful this time. I need him to be." She was pleading. Her desperation broke Wilson's heart.

"We both need it Lisa." Wilson looked up at the door. His friend stood against the frame, pain in his face fighting with determination. "I think he wants to talk to you." Wilson got up and brought the phone to House, then brought House to the bed to lie down.

"Hey Cuddy," House forced his voice to sound cheerful.

"Hi, House." She tried to force cheerfulness into her voice but failed. It was nice to hear his voice, but his cheerfulness worried her.

"Could you pick up some condoms on your way over? I don't want to have any little accidents running around." It was a joke, but it was also his way of finding out if she was coming back.

"Wilson didn't bring his own?" She avoided what he was really asking.

House smiled to himself. She was good. "Wilson's not staying." House was going to find a way to get rid of him.

"He said…"

"Don't believe everything that loser says."

"He's not a loser House. He's your friend. And he wants to help you."

"I want you to help me." House was as surprised by his words as she was.

"I have to go home." He could hear the guilt. "I have…"

It was time to twist the knife. "Other responsibilities?" It was just one, really, and they both knew it.

"I can't ask the babysitter to stay over again House." She sounded exhausted. House found it interesting that she hadn't said she couldn't leave Rachel.

"I'll take care of it." House looked toward the door. He had the perfect babysitter sitting in his living room. He could kill two birds with one stone.

"What are you thinking?" Cuddy feared the worst, but only for a moment. House would never kill a child.

"Wilson," House called out. "You just got yourself a date with a hot babe tonight."

"I thought you said he was busy?" Cuddy sounded accusatory.

"He is. He's babysitting." House grinned. He still had it. "So, see you at seven?"

Cuddy consented as he knew she would. Then she hung up which he hoped she wouldn't. House didn't have time to lament as Wilson was standing in the doorway, wondering about his hot date.

"I thought I was staying here tonight." Wilson took the phone from his reclined friend.

"Change of plans. You're going to Cuddy's."

"You set me up with Cuddy?" Wilson wasn't sure how to feel about that. Cuddy was hot, but he'd always kind of thought of Cuddy has House's woman.

"I set you up with Rachel."

Wilson tried to remember a friend of Cuddy's named Rachel. House waited. Her sister was Rebecca? She had a friend Reva? Rachel…Rachel…then it dawned on him. "I'm babysitting?"

"Yep." House was quite pleased with himself.

"But, shouldn't Cuddy be spending some time with Rachel? I can stay here with you."

"You aren't equipped to spend the night with me."

"Is this about getting you laid?"

"I already got laid. This is about…getting me more laid." He couldn't say what it was really about. It was really about getting her to admit he was more important to her than that baby.

Wilson accepted his fate. "Just don't screw this up, whatever this is that you have with her. Don't screw it up." With that sage advice, Wilson headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. He didn't really mind going to babysit Rachel. She was adorable. But he worried about House's motives. He always worried about House's motives.


	6. Interesting Drug

**INTERESTING DRUG**

House sent Wilson on his way, promising that Cuddy would be there soon. Then he went and took a nap, resting up for her arrival. He didn't really think about the pain throbbing deeply in his leg. His mind was on other things. After a short rest he got up and showered, he fixed his hair and brushed his teeth. A dash of the cologne his mother had sent him for Christmas three years ago and he was ready.

He looked at the clock. It was seven. He sat in his favorite chair and watched the door anxiously. The phone rang and his heart stopped. She wasn't coming. He looked at the caller ID and saw it was just some 800 number. He let the machine get it.

The truth of how badly he needed to see her was setting in as the clock slid to 7:15 and there was no sign of her. With each passing minute the pain began to increase. He rubbed his leg absentmindedly, telling himself she was stuck in traffic. She would be there soon.

The pain intensified as 7:30 rolled around. He reached in his pocket for his Vicodin before realizing it wasn't there. "DAMN!" His cane flew across the room. He screamed out in pain and frustration. He needed her now!

He felt her hand on his shoulder and heard her voice. "House? Look at me! Are you alright?" She was there, or he was dreaming. "House?" She saw his eyes opened and moved his face to look at her. "House, I'm here."

"You're late," he finally mumbled, able to deal with the pain again.

"I got called into a meeting. I'm sorry." She had wanted to call, but the meeting was a matter of life or death and she didn't have time. She expected Wilson to stay with him.

"My leg," he breathed, rubbing it fiercely.

"What can I do? Do you want some tea?"

"Massage." He felt it throbbing, and his hands were sore from rubbing it. "It helps." He still couldn't handle complete sentences through his gritted teeth.

"Of course." She leaned him back in the chair, fluffing the pillow behind him; then kneeled down before him.

She hesitated as she put her hands on his leg. She started massaging him delicately, afraid of hurting him more than he already hurt. She focused on what she was doing, not looking up into his face but studying her hands as they kneaded his flesh though the heavy denim of his jeans.

"Harder," he commanded, closing his eyes and dropping his head onto the back of the chair.

Cuddy paused for a moment. She knew what she was about to propose would cause problems, but she also knew it was the truth. "I need to take your jeans off." It had come out in the worst possible way.

"I thought you'd never ask." House unzipped himself and shifted his weight enough for her to pull at the menacing fabric until he was free from its constriction.

Cuddy shook her head as she placed her hands tentatively on the scar. She felt House's muscles tighten at her touch. She knew it was hard for him to be so vulnerable. "Is this okay?" She asked as she massaged his ravaged muscles.

"Don't be so delicate." He wanted her to pound out the pain. He would cut it out if he could. Tear it out of his body with all the rage of the past ten years. He wanted her to hurt him so badly that the pain he felt every day of his life would be overshadowed by a new pain.

Cuddy put her whole body into it. She kicked off her shoes and dug into his thigh with her fingers. Her body rocked back and forth as though she were making love to him. He watched her moving. She was so focused on her work that she didn't notice the effect it was having on another of his muscles, but House noticed.

His hand slipped into the center of his lap, his fingers inching into the flap of his shorts. The pain faded as his excitement rose. "Don't stop," he moaned as his hand closed in around his growing shaft.

Cuddy finally realized what he was doing. Her doctor's mind processed the information quickly. He was trying to ease his pain any way he could. She kept going with the massage, trying hard to ignore the groaning. She couldn't help but smile with amusement as he pumped himself harder and harder. He seemed to have forgotten she was there. He seemed to be lost in the escape of an approaching orgasm.

She forgot what she was doing as she watched him, lost in his own world, focused on bringing himself pleasure. "I told you not to stop!" He snapped, feeling the pain coming back. His hand wasn't enough to detract from the pain on its own.

He had no choice. He took her hand and pushed it against the hot, steel shaft between his legs. He ran her hand up and down his length until he was sure she knew what he wanted. Then he laid back and left her to massage him in a far more effective way.

He felt her pull his knees apart with her free hand, felt her slip between his legs as she worked on him. She was willing to ease his pain in any way she could. She didn't protest or falter as she gently massaged his manhood slowly. Building him up teasingly.

House sighed contentedly, the pain melting away as her smooth fingers slipped beneath his shaft.

"Does this help?" She asked, trying to diagnose him without his knowledge.

"Yes," he gasped, loosing himself in her touch.

"The pain is gone?" She lifted him playfully with the tips of her fingers. She knew he loved it. Well, he used to love it. She took a chance that he still did.

"No. But it's tolerable." He wasn't thinking clearly. If he was, he would have fought her questions.

Cuddy pulled her body up along his and pressed her lips to his gently. He felt a surge of pleasure rush through him, pushing away the last of the pain as she carefully mounted him. First one leg nestled between him and the chair. Then the other, pushing its way on his other side. She was still dressed, but that didn't matter. Her tight skirt had ridden high up to her waist and he could feel the flesh of her firm ass against his tattered thigh.

"Perhaps this will help even more." She pulled his shirt off quickly in one swift movement and tossed it aside. She had no use for it. She kissed his neck and his shoulder and his chest greedily, tasting his sweet flesh as if for the first time.

He tore at her clothes, fumbling as his hands trembled. He needed to feel her flesh against his. He needed to hold her tightly, his hands on her skin. He tore her blouse in his excitement and threw it on the floor. She didn't protest. She didn't even notice.

She was pushing aside the thin amount of lace that kept him from charging into her like a battering ram. He could feel her delicate fingers moving deftly between them, getting twisted in his hair as she pulled him into her.

"Why are you doing this?" He grunted as she moved on top of him. It wasn't that he was ungrateful, but his inquisitive mind wouldn't let him not ask.

"I can't stand to see you in pain." She was holding his face, looking into his eyes. Her body was still, holding him inside her.

"So you're going to fuck it away?" He tried to shift his body, squirming beneath her, trying to get enough friction going to start things moving again. She had him trapped. A slave to her will. He could barely managed a twitch under her weight. It was agony. Not the agony of a dull and endless pain in his thigh muscle, but the agony of desire and wanting. It was an agony he wasn't going to just sit there and take.

"Unless you'd prefer to go back on your Vicodin." She was teasing him, smiling and confident he would choose her. She was right.

He grabbed her ass in his hands and pushed her cheeks forward and back setting her into a smooth rocking motion that she soon continued without his guidance. "I took Vicodin about six times a day," he warned her.

She put her finger to his lips and leaned close to him. "Enough talking," she purred as she leaned in and bit his bottom lip, pulling it with her teeth playfully.

House grabbed her and pulled her to him, his whole body convulsing back and forth in the chair. The cushion was taking the brunt of his efforts and started shifting out of its position. He felt his position growing unstable and realized catastrophe was nearing.

So with one arm around her waist, he threw them both to the floor. He tried to soften the blow for her by bracing them up with his free arm, but he could tell the impact had hurt. Her face contorted briefly and she was trying to catch her breath.

"Why did you do that?" She asked between heaving breaths.

"It's my turn to be on top," he informed her, lowering his body onto hers.

Cuddy felt her heart flutter. This was the House she had fallen for all those years ago. The virile, take charge lothario who pressed down on her and took what he wanted. She felt herself opening up to his demands as he pushed himself into her once again.

She gasped as he thrust deep inside her. "Oh God!" She called out as he had his way with her.

"You know it," he said with a cockiness he hadn't felt in years. He felt freer than he had in years. His leg was functioning in a way he couldn't have imagined ten minutes ago. He was on the ground, abusing his muscles, and he felt no pain. Only the deep, pounding yearning between his legs.

As the warm fluid came gushing out of him he let himself relax, falling to her side. They were both panting heavily, both exhausted. They were not the energetic, youthful lovers they once were.

He wiped the hair out of her face and looked at her, resting himself on an elbow for a better view. "You're beautiful Cuddy." His hand ran along her face caressingly.

She smiled up at him. "You're just saying that because I put out." She had said those very words to him once before, though she wasn't sure he would remember.

"You just put out so you could hear me say it." He felt…happy. It was an odd sort of feeling for him. It was euphoria. The kind of rise that came just before the fall.

She took a deep breath. "This isn't going to work House."

"I think it's working just fine Cuddy." He ran a finger down bare torso. He watched as she responded to the slightest touch.

"I can't sleep with you every time your leg hurts."

His eyes trailed her body to avoid looking into her eyes. "I'm not asking you to."

She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him and tell him everything would be alright. But it wouldn't be alright. This wasn't a solution to his addiction. This wasn't a solution to his pain. This was just a quick fix that made them both feel better for a fleeting moment. But what would happen when that moment passed?

"Get up. I'm going to get you to bed." She struggled to pull herself off the floor. She was still wearing her skirt, bundled up around her waist and started straightening it out before helping him to his feet.

"You've been trying to get me to bed for years." House let her guide him to the bedroom, leaning on her for support. He hated having to lean on anyone for support, but he hid his need by grabbing her bottom tightly. Coping a feel was always a viable cover.

"Yes, of course I have." She didn't want to argue with him. She wanted him to fall asleep, before the endorphins wore off and the pain came back, worse than before. "Now, into bed." She pulled down the covers and tucked him in. "I'll be in the other room if you need anything." She turned to go but he grabbed her arm and forced her to stay.

"That's it? You're going to use me and then send me off to bed?"

"I thought you'd be pleased?" She didn't try to get away. "Isn't that how it works with your hookers?"

"You're not one of my hookers." House hated that she would even think that, even if he had given her ample reasons over the years to think exactly that. "What if my leg cramps up in the night?" Or he just wanted to feel her cradled in his arms?

"I'll be right in the other room if you need me." She knew she was sending mixed signals, one moment unable to keep her hands off him the next trying to get as far away as she could, but she was confused, and she needed to think, away from him. He had a way of making it hard for her to think straight. He had a way of manipulating her into doing what he wanted.

"You know I'm going to call you as soon as you leave, so why not save yourself the trouble and sleep here, with me?" He smiled and patted the bed beside him.

She looked at him and knew he had won. He would call her as soon as she walked out the door, and she would come running. "You NEED to get some sleep," she said in her best administrative voice."

"I will." He was watching her take off her skirt.

"SLEEP," she reconfirmed.

"I heard you the first time." He watched as she pulled an old faded tee shirt out of his drawer and pulled it over her head.

She turned to him, saw the look on his face and sighed. "You're not going to sleep, are you?"

"Not a chance." He reached out for her and she fell into his arms. She knew it was wrong, she knew she was doing more damage than good, but she couldn't help herself as she felt him exploring her body as she felt him penetrate her once more and as she heard him whisper the three words she never imagined hearing from his lips.


	7. He Cried

**HE CRIED**

House woke up in the dark. He looked over at the clock which mocked him with giant green numbers. 3:30 AM it said boldly. He rubbed his leg absentmindedly. The pain was starting to return, but now he had the perfect cure. He smiled in the dark as he reached out for her. She'd be mad, at first, getting woken in the middle of the night, but she'd get over it. He'd see to that.

He felt her pillow, still warm from where she had been. Or was it warm? He felt out in the dark, to the place her body should have been. There was nothing there. Not even the memory of her. He threw the pillow across the room and flipped on the light. She was gone.

The pain intensified, shooting up his leg toward his heart. He cried out and scrambled to find the bottle he kept on his bedside table. It shouldn't have been there, but it was. He fumbled with the top, pulling it off in a rage. Pills spilled out onto the bedspread. He scooped them up and tossed them into his mouth. He would do anything to make the pain stop. ANYTHING.

The pills weren't working. He felt his desperation building. He tried to get out of bed. His leg failed him and he crashed to the floor. He waited a moment, waiting for her to come running. The apartment was silent. She wasn't there.

House pulled himself to his feet, the pain crippling him, keeping him from standing tall. With all the strength he had he had thrust himself forward, sending himself careening toward the door. He grabbed the frame, keeping on his feet and looked down the long, daunting hallway. There was another bottle, he had to reach the bookshelf and behinds a faded old edition of Grey's Anatomy there was a bottle, tucked away for safe keeping.

But he had told her about that one. Hadn't he? She had taken it and flushed the pills down the toilet. He had watched as his little white saviors abandoned him. Of course she had taken the one on his side table too, and yet there it was, now empty, but it had been there, when he woke up, waiting for him like it always was.

He attempted to make his way down the hall. The pain was too much for him. When had it gotten this bad? He fell against the wall. Great. Now his arm was throbbing from the impact. He dropped to his knees in pain and cried out. "CUDDDDDDDDYY!" Where the hell was she? Why was she ignoring him? Why wasn't she there?

He crawled the rest of the way into the living room. The need was so desperate now that it consumed him. The need for Cuddy…for the pills…the need for relief from his pain. All he could think about was reaching that bookcase. The thing was, he had pills, if they hadn't been flushed, in many other places throughout his apartment, but he wasn't thinking clearly. He was focused on the one bottle that was farthest from his reach.

He began to tear apart the bookcase. Book after book came crashing to the ground. His accumulated knowledge lay in tatters on the floor. He clawed at the shelves. Where was it? Where was the bottle? Where was she? Where was Cuddy?

He collapsed onto the floor. The pain in his leg would not let up. He had taken some pills. They should have taken the edge off, but they didn't. He should be at the start of a mind numbing haze, but he wasn't. Instead he was faced with a cold, cruel reality.

He pounded his leg with his clenched fists. He needed the pain to stop. "GO AWAY!" He screamed, pounding harder and harder. He wanted to cut his leg off. He needed it gone. The pain, the torment, he wanted all of it to go away.

"I'm not going to leave you House." Her voice was so soft, like a dream. Her touch was warm, like a faint memory. He opened his eyes and felt the soft mattress beneath him and the warm blankets on top of him. He was in bed.

"My pills…"He reached out to her, feeling her leg and her arm and her face. She was there, really there. But then he remembered his Vicodin had been there too. He had taken it. He turned to look at the table. The bottle was gone.

"You're detoxing House." She seemed to understand. He was disoriented. She reached over and pulled him into her arms.

"I…" He started to cried.

Cuddy held him tightly, not saying a word. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell into his hair.

House wasn't sure how long he cried. He wasn't even sure it was real. He didn't even know if he wanted it to be real. There was a comfort to being in her arms, feeling her rocking him back and forth like an infant that made him dare to hope this was reality. But the fear of her seeing him like this, seeing him broken down, crying like a baby made him want to climb back into that pill bottle and never come out again.

As Cuddy held him she thought back to the words that had drifted off his lips a few hours before. He had said to her the words she had longed to hear for all the years she had known him. And now she couldn't even be sure he had meant them, or said them to her, or even remembered.

"I'm going to go get you some tea." She had to get away from him. Just for a moment. Just to pull herself together. She slipped out of his grasp and out of his bed. He had stopped crying but his face wore the stains of his tears. "I'll be right back." She hated leaving him, and her hand lingered on his as long as it could.

"I don't want tea," House said once she'd gone. Then he threw a fit, thrashing around on the bed, tearing at the comforter, throwing the pillows. He had more anger welled up inside him than he knew what to do with. He had to hit something, to break something, to hurt something. She wasn't safe here. "CUDDY!" He called to her. He had to warn her.

When she appeared in the doorway, panic marking her beautiful face, he told her to leave.

"I'm not leaving you House." She told him again. She would keep telling him for as long as it took.

"You're not safe here tonight." He felt the rage deep inside of him. He felt it welling up. It wouldn't be hard to direct it at her. A few deeply buried memories of the time she did this to him. That's all it would take to make him snap.

She felt the threat in his voice. She didn't doubt he could hurt her. She wasn't so naive to think she was safe around him. Not now, not while he was going through detox. He was a loaded gun and she was brazenly holding him up to her temple. "I'm not leaving you like this." She was holding the tea cup in her hand. She didn't know what else to do. "Here, drink your tea." She held the cup out to him.

He shot it away with a single swat of his powerful arm. He saw her jump back. She was afraid. "I can't," his voice trembled. He broke down again. "I can't do this." He clutched his leg. The pain was mind numbing.

Cuddy rushed to his side, no longer concerned for her own safety. He needed her. "You're going to get through this House." She rubbed his back as he lay in a ball on the bed, scratching at his leg with dull nails. "Just stop," she tried to grab his hands, pull them away, but he overpowered her.

"I CAN'T HANDLE THE PAIN!!!!!" He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to die. He wanted it all to go away.

"You are Dr. Gregory House. You can handle anything." She had always believed that. When she saw him stand up to Professor Morris, the Monster of Michigan twenty five years ago she knew House could do anything.

"I don't need a damned cheerleader." He tried to push her away but she was ready for him this time. "I need my damned Vicodin!"

"No you don't House." She began to rock him gently. "You are stronger than that." She knew he would hate her words of encouragement, but she didn't know what else to say.

"I don't want to be!" He wanted his drugs. He wanted this farce to end.

What had he been thinking? Detoxing? Him? It was doomed from the start. He was too weak, too selfish to make this work. He didn't want it to work. He wanted to fail. To prove to her that he was nothing but a failure, so she would finally leave him. So he could finally be alone, to wallow in his own misery. To finally have no reason to try to improve.

"I don't care if you don't want to be strong House. I don't care if you want to give up. I'm not going to let you. I did not go through all of this just for you to give up." She pulled him to a sitting position. This time he let her take his hands. She held them tightly, looking him in the eye. "You said something to me last night. I need to know if you meant it."

"I don't know what I said." It was the truth. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore. His mind was giving up on him. Why wouldn't she.

"You told me you loved me." She was feeling empowered by his surrender. She felt the need to be strong to compensate for his weakness. "Last night, you said you loved me. I need to know if that is true."

House stared at her, his bloodshot eyes finding it hard to focus. Of course it was true. It had always been true. He was just too much of a coward to admit it.

Cuddy waited another moment. She could see the answer in his eyes. She just needed to hear him say it.

"I can't." He finally uttered the words as his heart broke.

"It's okay House." She pulled him to her breast, holding him protectively. She was going to have to settle for knowing.

The pain had dulled and House found himself growing tired. He pulled his weight back onto the bed, taking her with him and he slept. It was a deep, restorative sleep, with her nestled against him. He had survived another night, but they were getting harder. This was only the beginning and he couldn't imagine what he was going to put her through next.


	8. Whatever Happens, I Love You

**WHATEVER HAPPENS, I LOVE YOU**

The clear light of morning shone through the windows brightly. House had been awake for a while, staring up at the ceiling and thinking. He knew now what he had to do.

"You're awake?" Cuddy tilted her head up and looked at him sleepily.

"So are you." He looked down at her. This moment would have been perfect if he had been someone other than the miserable wretch he was.

With deep regret he pulled his arm out from under her. "You should get going. Wilson is probably ready to propose to Rachel by now."

Cuddy looked at him for a moment, then decided he was teasing her. "I'll make you some breakfast."

"I don't need you to mother me."

She was used to him being difficult, so she ignored him and headed for the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, House picked up the phone. He knew her number by heart, and dialed it quickly. Wilson didn't pick up until House's voice came over the answering machine. "Pick up Wilson. Or I'm telling Cuddy you left her baby alone…" Wilson was now on the other end.

"What is it? Is everything okay?"

"I wish people would stop asking me that." He explained, in vague details, what happened last night and asked Wilson to come over immediately.

"What about the baby?" Wilson currently had Rachel over his shoulder. She'd just eaten and he was trying to get her to burp.

"Bring it. Cuddy can take it home with her."

"I thought you wanted Cuddy to stay with you."

"I changed my mind." House hung up. He was confident his friend would come. Wilson had a way of always being in the middle of all House's crisis'.

"Who was that?" Cuddy was standing in the doorway, a bowl of cereal in her hands.

"You made me cereal?" He was offended, or at least he pretended to be.

"There is no food in this house." She came and sat beside him and handed him the bowl.

"You're not going to feed me?" He asked, looking up at her helplessly, his mouth wide open, waiting for her to obey. He knew she would, and when the spoon went into his mouth, he licked it happily. He had her wrapped around his finger.

"You still didn't tell me who was on the phone." She fed him another bite, amused as much as she was annoyed.

"Wilson. He's coming over with the brat."

"House!" She shoved the spoon a little forcefully into his mouth, just because she could. House grabbed it from her and finished feeding himself. "I thought we could spend the day together." She didn't want to let him out of her sight. Not after last night. Not after what he did and didn't say, and the pain she saw him in, and the fear she felt when he asked for his pills.

"You should spend the day with the demon seed." House hated pushing her away, but he had to. He was doing it for her own good, but she'd never see it that way. She would hate him for this.

"I'm not leaving until Wilson gets here." She was not leaving him alone for a second. And when Wilson did arrive, she was going to make sure he didn't leave his side either.

"Suit yourself." He felt the pain tingling his leg and rubbed it under the blanket. He didn't want her to see.

It took Wilson the better part of an hour to show up. When Cuddy opened the door to him she had to suppress a laugh. He had a diaper bag over one arm, a car seat in his other arm, Rachel was cradled not in the car seat but against his shoulder and the diaper bag was slipping down to his elbow. He had spit up on his shoulder and his hair was tossed around like he'd been in a windstorm. "I don't know how you do it," he rushed past her and put everything but the baby down as soon as he could.

"Not like that," she chuckled, taking Rachel from his arms. She cooed and made faces at her daughter while Wilson collapsed onto the sofa.

House stumbled out into the living room. He was wearing his pajamas of baggy, blue stripped cotton, and clutching his cane. "Go home," he said as he watched Cuddy cradling her baby in her arms.

"I'm going," she snapped back. She had already given Wilson explicit instructions not to leave House for any reason. He was not to let House con him into going to the store for snacks, or running down the hall to check the mail, and if he was paged, he should call her before rushing to the hospital. Wilson had listened to her instructions carefully like a little boy being left home alone for the first time. He very nearly said 'yes mother' when she had finished.

"I'll call you later," she said, now in her coat and preparing to leave.

"Don't bother," House mumbled. She ignored him, not realizing he was saying it because he didn't plan on being there to answer.

As soon as she left, House turned and headed back to his room. "I need you to drive me to Morristown."

"I'm not driving you anywhere." Wilson was startled, he didn't think about it.

"Then I need you to call me a cab." House was calling from his bedroom. He had to get dressed if he was going out.

"I'm not calling you a cab." Wilson lingered in the hallway, giving House his privacy, but not too much freedom to get himself into trouble.

"I'm not going to walk to Morristown." House pulled a small suitcase out of his closet.

"What's in Morristown?" Wilson finally asked the obvious question as he ventured into the bedroom to see what House was doing.

"There's a facility there." House waved to the bottom drawer of his dresser. "Give me the sweater on the left." It was a sweater his mother had made for him fifteen years ago. He never wore it out of the house, but on cold winter nights it served as his pajama top and kept him warm.

"What kind of facility?" Wilson pulled out the sweater, noticing the small hole in one armpit and handed it to House. He looked into the small suitcase. There wasn't much in there. Mostly books it seemed, a pair of pajamas and underwear.

"Mayfair Psychiatric Hospital." It felt strange to finally say it out loud.

"Wait? What? When did this happen? Does Cuddy know? How? I…" Wilson was stunned. He would have fallen to the floor if the bed weren't conveniently at his side. As it was he dropped so hard to its squishy surface that he and the suitcase beside him bounced into the air before settling back into position.

"Are you going to drive me there?" House zipped up his bag. "Or do I have to call a cab?"

"I'll drive." Wilson was positively gushing. "I'm so proud of you…"

"Don't." House was already regretting his decision to ask Wilson for a ride. He didn't want a lecture, or a proud papa. He just wanted a quiet ride to Mayfair.

"Sorry." Wilson was positively jumping out of his skin. He grabbed House's suitcase from the bed and lugged it to the car. House limped along behind him, taking one last look at the apartment he had called home for the past fourteen years.

He couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was the only way. He would eventually cheat and lie to Cuddy if she handled his rehab alone. He would get Wilson to help him betray her, and she would never be able to face him or trust him again. He didn't want that. He wanted to prove to her that he could do this. He wanted to do it on his own, by locking himself away from those who cared about him. It was the only way he knew of to keep from destroying them if this didn't work. This way, it wouldn't be her fault. It wouldn't be because of Wilson's enabling that he failed. If House failed this time, it would be completely his own doing.

Mayfair had one of the best rehab programs in the country. Not the best, but that was in Oregon and he didn't like all that fresh air and rain. He wanted to be close to home. He refused to admit to himself why.

He'd been researching Mayfair, had researched it years ago, but never saw it as a viable option. He never thought he was that far gone. He always managed to get Wilson and Cuddy off his back with a weak of detox here or a promise to take less pills there. He never thought he needed the help of a program, until now.

"I can't believe you're doing this." Wilson had finally broken the twenty something miles of silence.

"I can't believe you took this long to bring it up again." House was staring out the window. He was trying to shut down his mind, trying to stop thinking about what he was about to do.

"I…if there is anything I can do…" Wilson was dying to help. He had a pathological need to help.

"You're doing it." House leaned over and turned up the radio.

Wilson finished the last eighteen miles in silence.

Mayfair Psychiatric Hospital loomed before them at the end of a long, narrow driveway. It looked like something from a gothic film. Wilson actually shivered as his eyes fell upon it in the distance. "Is that it?"

"That's it." House wasn't too pleased with the look of the place either, as images of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ filled his head.

"Are you sure about this?" Wilson wouldn't judge him if he decided to back out now.

"Just stop the car and let me out here." They were almost at the door. Only a few feet of asphalt stood between them and the ominous building.

"Are you sure?" Wilson pulled over but refused to get out of the car. His hands were clenched tightly around the steering wheel. If he were more like House, he would have slammed on the gas and high tailed it out of there. But he wasn't like House, so he sat there while his friend got out of the passenger's seat and retrieved his bag from the trunk.

"They don't allow visitors," House had told Wilson as he got out of the car. He wasn't sure if Wilson had heard him or not. The dark haired man was as still as a statue, and as pale as one too. "So, I'm just going to go now." House hesitated, almost waiting for Wilson to jump out of the car and hug him, but Wilson couldn't move. He was frozen in place; frozen by worry and by fear. House was about to do something that would change him, hopefully for good.

House hovered outside the car for a moment, then a nurse called to him. "Are you Gregory House?" She looked down at a clip board. "We've been waiting for you. I have a room ready for you. If you're ready?" She waited by the door. She knew that goodbye's were always difficult. She didn't want to rush them. Brothers, she guessed, by the neediness of House and the unresponsiveness of his acquaintance.

"Wilson was tearing up. He tried to stop it, he knew House would mock him, or yell at him, or just hate him for making this harder than it was, but he couldn't stop. "I'm sorry House." Wilson stared at his white knuckles, gripping the steering wheel. "I can't say goodbye."

That was why House hadn't wanted Cuddy here. That was one of the reasons. Seeing him admit defeat was another. "Goodbye Wilson." House said the words for his friend. Then he turned and walked toward the large oak door, toward the sturdy, middle aged nurse and the buff looking security guard. He was walking toward what he hoped was his future, a future with Cuddy, a future where he was no longer a slave to the pills. He felt like he was walking to his death.

Wilson watched silently as his friend vanished through the door. He felt like a failure. He should have been able to prevent this, to have stopped House before things got this bad. He dropped his head against the steering wheel and cried. He cried like he hadn't cried in a very long time. And he cried for a very long time.

Cuddy called House's apartment several times before showing up. Her sister had come to take Rachel to the zoo with her son Brendon. She asked if Cuddy would like to join them, but her sister seemed distant and worried, and she wasn't surprised when Cuddy said no. She assumed something big must be happening at the hospital and rather than listen to the boring details, she simply took the baby without asking what was bothering her sister.

Cuddy had a key. She'd had one made yesterday when she realized she might come over one day to find House lying helpless in a pool of his own vomit. She called it a precaution, but it was as much a way to feel closer to him as it was for his own safety.

She unlocked the door and headed inside. "House?" She called to him. "Wilson?" She knew Wilson wasn't there. She would have seen his car on the street. She was going to ream him out for leaving House alone but apparently, wherever he'd gone, he'd taken House with him.

He tried calling on her cell but Wilson wasn't answering. Where ever they'd gone, they were going to be in BIG trouble when they got back. So she sat and she waited. She waited about an hour, calling Wilson repeatedly and checking House's messages on his machine. Nothing but sales calls.

When she went to use the bathroom she glanced toward his room. Something seemed different. The room was tidy, but it seemed, off. The book he'd been reading was no longer on the side table. The small clock was missing too. She rushed back into the living room. She hadn't noticed before, but something had felt off to her. Books were missing from the book case. Not many, but enough to leave those left behind tilted and collapsing.

She hurried to the bathroom. His toothbrush was missing as were some miscellaneous toiletries. But there was something there that hadn't been before. A small piece of paper, a note. She saw her name on the top of it and began reading quickly.

"Cuddy,

"I am not your responsibility. It is not your job to fix me. This is something I have to do alone." There was something else written, but it had been scratched out so well she couldn't make out even a letter through the tears running down her face.

"I don't know when I'll be back. I don't know if this will even work, but I have to try." Cuddy fell to the floor with a thud. She didn't feel the pain in her body. It was overshadowed by the aching of her heart.

He had started to write something but only got as far as a couple letters before crossing it out.

"Whatever happens, I love you".

Cuddy felt her heart break into a million pieces. She couldn't believe he was gone. She couldn't believe he had left without telling her. She couldn't believe… she tore at the shower curtain, pulling it and the pole that held it up down to the floor with a crash. She fought with it, clawing at it and cursing at it as she took out all the anger and frustration she'd been feeling for the past few days out on the defenseless bit of fabric.

He couldn't do this to her. He couldn't just leave without telling her. He couldn't just say he loved her and be gone for god knows how long. It wasn't fair. After everything she'd done for him, after everything she'd given up, it just wasn't fair.

She fell to the floor and cried. She cried until there were no tears left and then she wept dry tears until her body finally gave up and she fell into a fitful sleep.

Wilson came and eventually carried her to House's bed, where she curled up against House's pillow, wishing in her dreams that it was House she was holding as Wilson tucked her in and went to sleep on the couch. They had both lost someone very dear to them that night, and he needed to be there when she woke up so they could work through the loss together. He needed to be needed by someone. And she was going to need someone to get her through this.


	9. You're Gonna Need Someone on Your Side

**YOU'RE GONNA NEED SOMEONE ON YOUR SIDE**

Cuddy woke up with a headache. She pulled the pillow closer to her body and curled up against it. It wasn't warm like his body was, and that absence of warmth woke her from a hazy sleep. Then reality hit. That's when she threw it across the room, knocking an old tribal drum off the tall dresser.

Wilson came running. "What's wrong?" He looked around the room anxiously. His hair was smushed up on one side and puffed slightly on the other. His eyes were gummy with sleep.

"He's gone," Cuddy said with a deathly finality.

"He'll be back." Wilson came and sat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders in comfort.

"Why did he have to go?" She had read the note. She spent the night with it crumpled in her sleeping hand. She knew his abbreviated version of why he went; she just wasn't ready to accept it.

"He's doing this for you Lisa." That was Wilson's romanticized believe.

"NO!" She pulled away from him and faced him with fire in her eyes. "He's not doing this for me. He's doing this to avoid me. He's doing this…because he's an arse."

"Don't you think you might be oversimplifying?" Wilson was still trying to comfort her.

"Don't tell me what I think!" She pushed past him and slammed her way into the bathroom.

"He's only trying to protect you." Wilson called through the closed door.

"Stop defending him!" She wanted to stay mad. It was easier to be mad at House than to admit she had failed him.

"He's getting help Lisa. This is a good thing." Wilson put his hand against the door. He was trying to sooth her though the thick wood. He had spent the whole ride home coming up with things to say to her.

Cuddy leaned against the door, on the ground where she'd sunk. Her head was in her hands, trying to hold back the tears. She heard Wilson's words, but she was too confused to respond.

House had been doing well. She didn't understand why he had to leave. She feared the worst, that he didn't want to do well and went somewhere he could fall again. Wilson wouldn't have taken him somewhere dangerous. But Wilson was easily swayed by House. He'd always been easy to manipulate. Even she had done it countless times. She loved Wilson, but she wouldn't trust him with House's life.

Wilson waited a while, hoping she would come out and talk to him, but clearly it was too soon, so he eventually went out to the kitchen to fix some breakfast. Cereal was the only option, so he went to the cupboard and pulled out a bowl. He grabbed the milk carton and sniffed its contents before pouring it into the bowl of cereal. He should have known Cuddy wouldn't leave sour milk in the fridge like House often did.

He sat down to eat in the silent kitchen. He was too far away to hear Cuddy weeping, but he could feel it in every empathetic bone in his body, and it broke his heart. He wanted her to come out and talk. He could tell her where House had gone and that everything was going to work out this time. He felt it.

He knew House better than the man knew himself. House wasn't doing this for himself or because he felt Wilson and Cuddy were pushing him too. He was doing this because he finally understood that he was going to die alone if he didn't. If she could only understand that, she wouldn't feel so betrayed.

Wilson heard her footsteps behind him. He fought the urge to turn and look at her. Let her come to him. He heard her gather a bowl and some cereal. He heard the fridge door open and milk pouring on top of Cheerios. Then he saw her sit next to him.

"Where is he James?" Her voice was softer than he'd ever heard it. The tough as nails business woman had been replaced by a fragile little girl.

"He went to Mayfair. They have one of the best rehab programs in the country."

"Did he tell you why?" She sat with spoon in hand, not eating her cereal.

"Not in words." Wilson thought for a moment, how to tell her without getting her upset. "I think he just finally realized he needs to change."

House had changed already, from his usual rockin' wardrobe to a hospital assigned jumpsuit. His belongings had been picked over by security as soon as the door shut behind him. They were clearly searching for drugs. Fortunately the giant German Sheppard hadn't found anything worth his interest and House was spared having his undies fondled by the bulging security guard.

"No cavity search?" House snarked at Nurse Ratched.

"If you'd like one, I'm sure it could be arranged." House wanted to believe she was joking but the way she said it had him a little worried.

"Maybe later," House said with uncharacteristic trepidation.

Instead he was lead to his cell where he now sat reading his old, worn copy of The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. It was a cell. It could be described no other way. It was a nine by ten room with a twin bed, a desk and a closet. His small collection of books had been neatly piled on the edge of his desk and good old Nurse Ratched, whose real name House refused to learn, had put his clothes neatly in the drawers. Undies and socks on top, shirts in the middle and pants on the bottom so he'd know where everything was.

He was half way through the first story when there was a knock on the door. He didn't say come in. He wanted to finish the case, even though he already knew the answer. He heard the door open despite his lack of invite.

"Gregory House?" A booming voice came from high in the doorway.

"That's the name on the door." He had seen Nurse Ratched putting the little piece of paper with his name on it into the slot outside his door as they pushed him into his cell.

"I'm Dr. Fry. I'll be working with you during your rehabilitation." Dr. Fry took a few hesitant steps into the room. He was watching House thoughtfully, studying his newest challenge.

"Yay me." House sounded unexcited as he continued reading. He was aware of the doctor looming over him, staring down at him, studying him. It was a move he had done to countless patients; the silent observation. You could often learn much more from a person's actions than their words. Especially when dealing with someone like House who had no problem lying to everyone, including himself.

"You should cheer. You have taken the first step toward getting your life back."

House rolled his eyes.

Fry came and sat on the edge of House's bed. He put a hand on House's leg. He noticed the cringe but ignored it. "This is not going to be easy Mr. House." House hadn't mentioned he was a doctor. Fry had done his research, he always thoroughly researched his new patients, but he respected the brilliant doctor's wishes. He also knew that doctors inevitably made the worst patients. This was going to be fun.

"I know it's not easy." House hated being patronized.

"But I'm on your side. We're going to get through this together." Dr. Fry's amiable nature and good spirit were already working House's last nerve.

"Who do I talk to about being reassigned?" House put his book down hard on Dr. Fry's hand, which was still on his leg.

Fry jumped and pulled his hand back with a pained laugh. "There are no reassignments here at Mayfair. The admitting staff does a very good job of matching patients to their advisors."

"And who did I piss off to get stuck with you?"

"I think you'll find you are one of the lucky ones. Dr. Atkinson's patients are constantly begging to get on my rotation."

House made a mental note to find one of these idiots and make a trade.

Dr. Fry grinned widely. His smile was huge. "I wouldn't bother trying to switch with anyone. It would never be approved by administration."

"I know how to handle administrators." He thought, for a moment, of Cuddy. He had to quickly wipe the thought from his mind before Fry could catch a weakness in his armor.

"This one is not as pretty as your last." Fry wasn't going to reveal how much he knew about his patient this soon, but he wanted to study House's face when he realized Fry knew far more than he thought. He was not disappointed. For a split second, through the agony and despair, Fry saw a glimpse of anger. This treatment wasn't going to work unless House started feeling some real emotions, and anger was as good as any. At least he was no longer snarky and despondent.

"You know who I am?" House felt duped. He was the one who was supposed to pull the rug out from under his adversary. He felt like his whole world was falling apart.

"I do my homework Dr. House. I can call you that now yes?" He didn't wait for a reply. "This is never going to work if I don't know the whole story."

"You haven't earned the right to know the whole story." House wasn't about to spill his guts to a total stranger.

"This is true, but it is also true that you are paying an obscene amount of money for my help. It would be foolish to try to hinder your own progress with childish rebellion."

House did not like being called a child, even if it was mostly true. "I am free to leave whenever I want, so if I don't get a new advisor, I'm out of here."

Fry smiled which infuriated House more than anything else would have. "That is your choice Dr. House. I can't make you stay, but I'm also not going to give in to your bullying. So, if you need Nurse Richardson to come and help you pack, I will send for her." Dr. Fry rose to his feet, but didn't move to leave.

House Huffily reopened his book and pretended to read. A normal person would have taken that as a sign to leave but Dr. Fry stood there like a giant statue, looming over him calmly.

The two men remained in a stalemate for half an hour. House stubbornly refused to acknowledge Fry's presence, and Fry seemed to have nothing better to do than lumber.

"Don't you have other patients?" House finally couldn't take it anymore.

"You are my one and only." Fry grinned. He had folded his hands behind his back and was slapping one hand into the other. It was the way he remained calm. "I am here not only to be your advisor, and your doctor, but also your friend and confidant. I understand a man like yourself has a hard time confiding in anyone, but I hope that you will at least be brave enough to give it a try. Who knows? You might come to like it." With that Fry bowed his head and turned to go.

"That's it?" House looked up from his book.

"For now." Fry had his hand on the doorknob but paused. He wanted to see if House would ask him to stay.

"Am I allowed to leave my cell?"

"Is there any point in my saying no?"

House shrugged. "It would amuse me."

Fry laughed gaily. "Well then, allow me to amuse you. It is advised that you stay in your room unless supervised by hospital staff."

"I will keep that in mind." House grinned.

"I'm sure you will." Fry finally left his patient in peace. He was pleased with how their first session had gone. Dr. House was going to be quite a challenge, but now that he'd gotten a better idea of the man's personality, he had a good feeling about this one. A really good feeling indeed.

Dr. Fry strolled down the hallways of Mayfair Psychiatric Hospital with a spring in his step. It had been a while since he'd had so worthy an opponent.


	10. This Charming Man

**THIS CHARMING MAN**

House had spent most of the rest of his Saturday reading and eating what passed for food at Mayfair alone in his room. It was his choice. Dr. Fry had informed the staff that House could skip the cafeteria if he wished. He wished. But if Fry thought this was going to make them BFFs, he was in for quite a shock when he showed up the next morning.

"I hope you've enjoyed your breakfast." Fry smiled his way into the small room.

"Do you really?" House brattily replied.

"I do." And he did. Dr. Fry genuinely wanted people to be happy, like him. He thought it was better than the alternative.

House stared at him with disgust.

"I hope you don't expect me to go to church services with you."

"I don't. Actually, I thought I'd come to see you now since everyone else is busy praying." Dr. Fry moved toward the small, cluttered desk. "You're quite a reader."

"Just learned."

Fry laughed jovially. "Is that so?" It was hard to tell if Fry was pulling his leg or not so House chose to assume he was not, which made him an idiot, which worked for House.

"Yep." House popped the last of his grapes in his mouth and chewed it loudly.

"How are you feeling today Dr. House?" Fry pulled the desk chair around to face the bed House was reclining in.

"Better now that you're here." House wondered if Frankenstein's Monster would fall for it.

"That's good to hear." Apparently he had. "No pain in the leg?"

"No, but I'm currently dealing with a pain in the arse."

Fry threw his head back in a hearty laugh. He seemed to laugh a lot. House hated him. "That's good. We must keep our sense of humor." Fry pushed House's limits, to see how long it would take to get to the heart of the man.

"We must do nothing."

"Ah, but that's not true. In order for you to succeed we must work together." He laced his fingers together as an example of their cohesion.

House's own hands were balled into fists beside him and only part of it was the pain. "Of course my leg hurts. I haven't taken Vicodin once in the past eighty-four hours."

"You're keeping track. That's good." Fry was nodding his head approvingly.

House wanted to punch him. He wanted to deny keeping track, just to spite the jovial man sitting in front of him, but the truth was, he had been keeping track. Cuddy had answered his call almost exactly eighty-four hours ago. She flushed all his pills down the toilet over three days ago. And he had been trapped in this hell hole for almost twenty hours, not that he was counting that either.

"So, what would you like to talk about today Dr. House? Or can I call you Greg?"

"Do you really need me to answer that?"

"Dr. House it is." Fry smiled and held a notepad in his hand. House hadn't noticed it until now.

"A note pad? That's rather primitive isn't it?" House was avoiding. Dr. Fry knew perfectly well that he was, but he let him for now. You could learn a lot in a person's avoidance if you pay attention to what they are avoiding and how they go about avoiding it.

"My son got me an iPhone, said I could record on it, but I much prefer this. It's more intimate." He leaned toward House as he spoke then noted in his notebook that House leaned away. "Anyway, where were we?"

"We were nowhere."

"Fabulous. Then we can go anywhere we'd like."

"I know where I'd like you to go."

"Oh, I have a feeling we'd eventually meet again down there." Fry grinned. He was quiet enjoying having a true sparring partner.

"Is this how you help your patients? By telling them their addiction will send them to hell?"

Fry looked deeply hurt. For a moment House thought he might have actually hurt the man's feelings. Not that he cared. "I said nothing about your addiction." He scribbled down a note. House watched it curiously. He was trying to read what was being written. Fry was making no attempt to hide it. But something wasn't quite right with the words.

"What are you doing?" House snapped.

"I'm taking notes." Fry seemed unconcerned.

"You're writing in code."

"Not exactly, no." Fry was tapping his pen against his cheek, waiting for House to tell him something worth writing down.

House narrowed his eyes. "I blame it all on my mother and father." He watched as Fry scribbled from right to left. HA! He'd figured it out. "You're writing backwards!"

"Indeed." Fry looked up at the astute man. "It's called Mirror Writing. DaVinci wrote this way in his journals. Now, about your parents. You don't speak to them much, do you?"

"My father's dead." House said clinically. If Fry had done his research as he claimed, he would already know that and was looking for some emotional outburst that he was NOT going to get.

"And your mother?"

House didn't want to talk about his mother. "Has nothing to do with why I'm here."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Fry nodded his head. "But I'd still like to know how you feel about her."

"I'd like you to be a leggy brunette."

Fry thought about that. "Well, you are quite in luck then, aren't you?" He had long legs, being over 6'4" and his hair, though specked with grey was predominantly brunette.

"I don't talk to my mother." But talking about her seemed better than hearing about what a great catch Dr. Fry was.

"Why is that?" Fry frowned with his formidable brows.

"She prefers to remember me the way I was." House didn't have the heart to let her see the bitter man he'd become.

"Before the Infarction?" Fry had read all about that one.

"Yeah." House hated this stranger knowing so much about him.

"And were you that different?" Fry somehow doubted that.

"Nope." House hadn't thought about the answer. He just blurted it out. But Fry's long and pensive silence gave him a chance to really think about it.

He was different. He had always been acerbic, he had always challenged the norm and questioned everything, but before the infarction, before the Vicodin he hadn't been so bitter. He hadn't been so closed off. He hadn't been cruel.

"What are you thinking?" Fry had noticed his patient go quiet. He saw the distance in House's eyes.

"Of ways to kill you."

"Hahaha." Fry laughed once again. House was growing to hate that laugh. "You'll let me know when you find one yes? So I can make my funeral arrangements?"

"You'll be the first to know." House turned his attention to his window. There was a tree just outside of it. He was pretty sure that on windy nights the branches would scratch against the glass and really freak him out. He was already jittery from withdrawal.

"And how are you handling the lower dosage?" It was as if Dr. Fry had read his mind, until House looked down at his hands and saw them shaking uncontrollably. Fry wasn't a mind reader; just very observant.

"You have to ask?" House held up his trembling hands. Dr. Fry had cut House's Vicodin dosage to one quarter what he had been taking. It wasn't cold turkey, but it was close enough.

"It's my job to ask." Fry smiled weakly. "You know I can't give you more Vicodin, but there are other options…"

"I know the other options." And not one of them appealed to him in the slightest. He wanted his drugs.

"Perhaps some yoga would help to…"

"If you think I'm going to start doing yoga then you might want to take off that lab coat and have yourself admitted because you're off your rocker."

Fry nodded. "That's probably true, but until they catch on I think I'll keep doctoring."

"It's a sweet gig huh?" House was turning the tables. "One patient at a time, no rectal exams…"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that last one." Fry had done his share of rectal exams on patients suspected of hiding drugs. It was his least favorite part of the job. "It's quite a nice day. How about we go for a walk?" Fry stood up.

"You are aware that the chronic agonizing pain is in my leg, right?"

"Physical activity often helps combat the pain." Fry had no way of knowing how well House had figured that out in the past three days.

"I know." House thought back fondly on the curve of her body beneath him, the look on her face as he drove her to ecstasy and the way his pain seemed to melt away every time he thought about her enough to cause a stirring in his pants.

"So a walk?" Fry held out his hand. He didn't expect House to take it and was not disappointed.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You can always leave." Fry was almost daring him to do so. It was a test; a test to see how badly his patient wanted to be there, how badly he wanted to get better. House passed the test.

"I have to be back in time for my soaps." House pulled himself out of bed and grabbed his cane. One nice thing about the regulation jumpsuit was that he didn't have to worry about what to wear.

The two men walked side by side down the colorless hospital hallway. It was late morning and the hall was fairly quiet. "I've done a bit of research on you." Fry held open the door as House passed through to the great outdoors.

"I've noticed."

"You're quite a fascinating fellow." Fry nodded to a colleague who was just passing. "Kicked out of Hopkins for cheating; completed your degree at Michigan. Interesting choice."

"They were the only school willing to take me." It was the truth. No school would touch him after the expulsion from Hopkins, but the Dean of the University of Michigan was an old war buddy if John House. It was the only nice thing that man had ever done for the kid he thought was his son. "Did you find out in all your extensive research that John House isn't really my father?" He really didn't care about keeping that a secret.

"No." Fry stopped in his tracks for a moment. The only research he had done was a medical background check through the AMA and a quick Google search of Gregory James House. "How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?"

"It must. Or you wouldn't have brought it up."

House grimaced. He had walked right into that one. "I figured it out when I was a kid."

"Figured it out? Your parents didn't tell you?"

"Not in words." But John House's actions spoke most clearly. He had hated Greg from the moment he was born. Greg, the constant reminder of his wife's infidelity.

"Then you can't be sure."

"I am sure."

"Gut feeling?" It was odd for a doctor like House to go on gut instincts.

"DNA test." House poked at a squirrel with his cane and watched it scurry up a tree. He felt envious of the squirrel and suddenly wanted to kick it out of the tree, but he refrained.

"Do you know who your real father is?" Fry was genuinely curious. House's emotional detachment to the story was quite interesting.

"No." House looked over at him and made a sad puppy face. "Are you my father?"

"I was a boy myself when you were born." Fry laughed it off. Still, there was something there. Something House wasn't sharing. He wanted to get at it, so he kept picking. "Have you considered asking your mother who your real father is?"

"Why?" House turned and looked at him earnestly. "What difference would it make?"

"Don't you want to know?"

"Do you think it will make the pain in my leg go away?"

"No, but…"

"Then I really don't see the point." House started walking faster. The pain was a little lessened by the exertion. Not as it had been with Cuddy but… that just wasn't an option right now.

"If you ever change your mind…"

House had already put several lengths between himself and the good doctor. He was practically sprinting back to his room. He expected Dr. Fry to chase after him, to give him some platitudes about running from his past or standing up to his fears but Dr. Fry stopped moving all together and watched his patient vanish back into the large brick building.

He had learned a lot today. Not about House's father or his mother's infidelity, but about House and the way he dealt with the things he couldn't control. It was going to be a very bumpy ride for Dr. Gregory House. Very bumpy indeed.


	11. I Don't Mind if You Forget Me

**I DON'T MIND IF YOU FORGET ME**

Cuddy was tucking Rachel in for her nap. She sometimes worried that all the baby did was sleep, but she was grateful for it just the same. It gave her time to get some work done. She hadn't been able to do much of anything these past few days.

She tried to banish House from her mind, but every time she did it just made her think of him more. She called Mayfair, as soon as Wilson told her that's where House was, but she wasn't allowed to speak to him. They said they could relay a message but she told them not to bother. She had nothing to say; nothing that could be conveyed in a message anyhow.

Instead she buried herself in her work and showered attention on her daughter. She tried to avoid Wilson. All he wanted to talk about was House. All she wanted to talk about was House too, but it was pointless. He was gone.

The team seemed to adjust better than she'd expected. Foreman was more than happy to take over the lead role and though he relied heavily on consults from Chase and Cameron and even Wilson, he was managing to make some progress on the case she had given him. It was an easier case than she would have given House, but then, the team wasn't as capable without him. And the hospital was quiet.

She didn't like the calm organization that was slowly becoming her life. House hadn't been brought up once during yesterday's Board Meeting. It was a first. It was also the shortest, most productive meeting she'd chaired. She should have been happy about that, but she felt empty. She liked debating the reasons to keep House on staff, she liked arguing over his wild antics. She liked the conflict. It made the day go faster.

This week, at least the part of it she had managed to get through so far, seemed to drag on forever. House had only been gone four days and it felt like a lifetime had passed. She felt like Rachel should be out of college, starting a career or getting married by now, but she was still an infant. She still wore diapers and drank from a bottle. Rachel cried in the other room.

"I'm coming." Cuddy took off her glasses and closed her laptop. She switched from administrator to mother in a heartbeat. Neither position seemed as satisfying as it used to. "What's wrong?" She said in a cooing voice as she swept Rachel up into her arms. "Shhhh." She bounced her daughter up and down gently, swaying around the room in a sort of maternal dance. "Shhhh, it's okay." It didn't feel okay.

Rachel could sense it and cried some more. Something had changed in the woman with the bright blue eyes. Something was different. Rachel didn't like the change. It made her feel sad. She wasn't yet able to associate the change with the absence of the annoying man with the cane. She just knew that she was glad he was gone and she was getting all Cuddy's attention now. Only, now that she had it, she wasn't sure she wanted it.

"I don't know what you want?" Cuddy, who had taken a while to even feel a connection with Rachel, felt it slipping away. She wished the infant could tell her what was wrong. She wished she didn't already know that it was her that was wrong.

She had read somewhere that babies could sense feelings. They could tell when the people around them were sad or stressed or happy. It was important to try to stay upbeat and positive around new babies, so that their first impressions of life were good ones. Cuddy was failing miserably.

She began to cry. As she held Rachel in her arms, in a tight hug that she needed more than the baby did, she cried. When he was around, she convinced herself she didn't want House, he was too much trouble, he wasn't good for her, he couldn't be in a relationship, but now that he was gone, all she could think about was when she would see him again, how he was doing, and if he meant it when he wrote that he loved her.

She still had the note. She couldn't bring herself to throw it out. It was crumpled and the words had been blurred by tears, but she still looked at it every night and saw the words "I love you" as if seeing them for the first time. And her heart caught in her throat every time she whispered back "I love you too."

Wilson wasn't having any better luck trying to move on. He called Mayfair every day, left messages of support and encouragement for House, but he never got a message back. He drove by the hospital on Tuesday, adding an extra hour and a half to his commute home, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friend. He arrived home late and disappointed and fell asleep in his clothes on the couch watching old reruns of MASH.

He was starting to cancel appointments and skip out on his patients. That's when Cuddy had to step in. She knocked on his office door even though it was wide open. "What?" Wilson looked up from an old article about House.

"I wanted to see how you were doing." Cuddy smiled warmly and took a few steps inside.

"Suddenly you care?" He had been hurt that she was avoiding him.

"Of course I care. You are…"

"House's best friend?" Wilson looked up at her. She could tell he hadn't slept.

"You're my friend James." She sat down across from him and reached out to take his hand. He pulled it away.

"You only care because House isn't around for you to take care of."

"You don't want to go there." Wilson was notorious for 'taking care' of House, often with disastrous results.

"No, I don't." Wilson was a defeated man.

"Have you heard from him at all?" She wasn't sure if she wanted a yes or no answer. She wanted to know that House was alright, but she would be hurt if he was ignoring her.

"No. You?" Wilson looked up at her hopefully.

"No." She thought about why she'd come to see him. "If you need to take some time off…"

"Are you?" He challenged.

"No. I…"

"Thank you Lisa, but I don't think sitting around my house all day is going to help."

"No." She got up to leave.

"Lisa?"

"Yes?" She looked down at him, not wanting to sit and prolong the visit any more.

"Do you want to go get something to eat after work?" Wilson looked nervous. His fingers were twisted together under his desk.

"I don't think that's a good idea Wilson." Cuddy was back to being his boss.

"No. You're right." He tried to brush off his disappointment. Then he realized she might have thought he was asking her on a date. He blushed. "I just thought we could talk, you know, commiserate?"

"I don't want to commiserate." She wanted House back. Wilson seemed to understand and let her go.

House sat in his room doodling on a sketch pad. Dr. Fry had signed him up for art therapy classes. So far every one of House's pictures had been a big bottle of Vicodin. His teacher was not impressed. But today he wasn't drawing Vicodin. This wasn't a picture for class. It was a doodle and the doodle looked remarkably like a woman he knew.

The dark curly hair fell over bare shoulders, the penetrating blue eyes were marked by light shading with the pencil, the gently slope of her neck had been erased several times until he got it just right. He was working on her breasts now, taking his time. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember them. He held his hand out as if cupping one of them in it and he sighed.

"Knock, Knock," Fry said obnoxiously as he stuck his head in the door. "Are you busy?"

"Yes." House hid the painting quickly. It was not something he planned on sharing.

"You have a visitor." Fry stepped into the room and House's heart stopped beating as he waited for Cuddy to walk in. His heart started again as he laid eyes on someone he'd never seen before.

"Who the hell is that?" It certainly wasn't Cuddy, or even Wilson. Hell, it wasn't even one of his team.

"This is your physical therapist, Jeanine." Jeanine was not House's idea of a physical therapist. She was short and squat and squinted through pale eyebrows.

"I don't need a physical therapist." House wanted to get back to his drawing, or maybe play a little piano, or his guitar, or diagnose a case or anything but physical therapy with Jeanine.

Jeanine and Dr. Fry shared a look. It did not escape House's notice.

"I think it would be best…" Dr. Fry began.

"I don't really care what you think." House snapped. He was in a foul mood today. The pain was wearing on his nerves.

"You've made that abundantly clear, and yet, I still think it would be best if you spent some time with Jeanine to discuss pain management options."

"There is only one pain management option I am interested in," House said through gritted teeth.

"But that option is no longer available to you." Fry remained calm, annoying House even more than a fight would have.

"Then we have a problem because I am NOT doing physical therapy!"

Fry smiled patronizingly. "That is your problem Mr. House. Not mine." Fry was still respectful of House's privacy and did not tell anyone at the hospital that his patient was a doctor.

"YOU are my problem," House snapped.

"And for the moment, YOU are Jeanine's problem." Fry bowed his way out of the room and shut the door leaving House and his new acquaintance to get to know each other better.

"You can leave," House informed her.

"Or I could stay, and you can either ignore me or listen to what I have to say. I get paid either way." Jeanine sat down at the desk and stared him down.

House chose to ignore her. He could hear her talking but the words were just white noise. He felt frustrated because all he wanted to do was get back to his drawing, to finish putting Cuddy's body on paper for him to pull out and stare at as he drifted off to sleep each night. Instead he was stuck listening to Jeanine drone on about low impact jumping jacks and kick boxing moves he could do in his tiny little room as well as the fully equipped gym facility he would now have access to.

House really didn't care about kick boxing or treadmills. He had already found the activity that removed his pain completely, and it just so happened to be one of his favorite things to do. So why, when he finally got to do it, did he run away and hide himself in a locked down medical facility? What was he so afraid of?

Jeanine finally left after an hour of babbling incoherently, at least it was incoherent to House who wasn't listening, and finally he was alone. He pulled the drawing out from under his pillow and looked at it. It wasn't that good, art had never been his forte, but it was passable. It looked like Cuddy, within the constraints of his talent.

He set back to work, remembering her body and putting it to paper. With each memory came a surge of adrenaline and a minor relief from his pain. When the drawing was done, her full body laid out in pencil before him he looked at it, and he rewarded himself appropriately.

His mind flashed through their moments together as his hand quickly glided up and down under the sheets. All the times they had been together meshed together in his head, a flash of undressing here, a suck of a nipple there, all in bits and pieces as he continued to stroke with greater ferocity.

He wondered where she was and if she was thinking about him. She would still be furious with him for leaving, but she would get over it eventually. Maybe even get over him. He groaned as the effects of his work began to take hold. He told himself over and over as he continued to work himself into a frenzy that he wanted her to get over him. He wanted her to forget she ever knew him. That was why he came here. That was why he ran. He wanted to give her a chance to start over.

But House wasn't that altruistic. He didn't do things for other people. He did things for himself. And he knew she wouldn't forget him. He knew she was suffering. He wanted her to suffer the way he was. He wanted to know he was not alone. He felt the flood of relief issue forth onto his sheets. The cleaning crew hadn't said anything yet about the mysterious marks on his sheets. He doubted they would start now.

As he slipped off to sleep he thought of her. He couldn't have known that she was lying in bed thinking of him, but he hoped. He couldn't see her curled up with Rachel cradled in her arms. He didn't know how much his absence was affecting her because he hadn't heard from her since he committed himself and he hadn't reached out to contact her either. He thought it was better this way.


	12. Panic

**PANIC**

House woke up with a muffled scream. His leg was throbbing, wiping out the memories of the night before and the dreams that had kept him from crying out in the dark. House looked over at the clock. It would be three more hours before the nurse showed up with his meds. He cursed the empty room as he pounded out the pain with his fists. It wasn't working. He tried to think of Cuddy, but even that didn't seem to be working right now. There was only one thing that would cut through this kind of pain.

He had to get more drugs. It would be easy for him to manipulate his way to a score. Fry didn't show up for another hour and a half. The night nurse was still on duty, nearing the end of his shift. He wouldn't be paying attention to anything but the clock. All he had to do was slip quietly passed the front desk and into the pharmacy.

House pulled himself out of bed, his teeth clenched in a pointless attempt to ease the pain. He watched the crumpled, now smudged drawing he'd made fall to the floor in a gentle flutter, almost mocking his inability to bend over and pick it up. With his cane he pushed it under the bed, hiding it from any prying eyes that might show up. He had opted not to mention his form of 'self medication' to Dr. Fry. He knew the horrible man would find a way to ruin it.

The hall was empty at this early hour. Still House took no chances. He popped his head out of his room and looked down the long end of the corridor that lead to the emergency exit and the other 'guest' rooms. Then he looked down the shorter end of the hall that led to the main entrance and all the public areas. That was the direction he had to go in.

He didn't hear any noise coming from either direction as he took a step out of his room. He tried his best to look casual despite the shaking and the thin layer of sweat that had become a part of him now that he was detoxing. He fought the urge to hum, knowing that would make him look guilty. Instead he strolled through the main hall, glancing only once at the guard station. The night nurse was reading a book.

He scooted through the main hall quickly and down the smaller hall toward the pharmacy. Dr. Chang would be on duty. It had taken House less than a week to learn the routine in this place. The schedule was relentless and predictable.

Dr. Chang was, as predicted, standing behind the high counter of the small on site pharmacy. House had come by a few times, just to chat, to strike up a rapport. Oh, who was he trying to fool. He had come by to scope out the place a few times, and make himself known to the guy who dealt the drugs. He had found out quite a bit on his expeditions.

Dr. Chang had a wife and two kids at home. He suspected his wife was cheating on him. House had given him the name of a good PI. Chang was also an avid gamer. House asked him lots of questions about the Wii and if it might be a good therapy tool. House didn't really care about the game, or about Chang's disintegrating marriage. He was trying to make a friend, not so he'd have someone to talk to, but because Change was in charge of the medication and it was always good to have a friend in charge of the things you wanted.

"Hey Chang." House nodded as he strolled up to the counter and pushed his weight against it, trying to relieve some of the pain. It didn't work and he slowly, undetectably slammed his fist against the hard surface of the counter to distract himself.

"House, my man!" Chang was genuinely pleased to see him. It was an emotion House was not used to seeing on other people.

"How was the baseball game?" Chang's daughter played baseball in middle school or high school or something. Or it could have been his son. It really didn't matter to House.

"They won 4-3." Chang beamed proudly. No one around here ever asked him about himself. He was just the guy who gave out the meds. The other doctors didn't seem to take him seriously and most of the patients avoided him at all costs. He knew they were really avoiding being so close to temptation, but he couldn't help taking it personally sometimes.

"Good show." House wasn't in the mood for small talk. His eye was scanning the shelves behind Chang.

"You're out and about early today." Chang was as aware of the goings on at Mayfair as House was. In other circumstances the two men might have been friends, as much as anyone could be friends with House, or Chang for that matter. "Rough night?"

"You know how it is." House suffered through some small talk, all the while watching the clock. If Fry showed up and House wasn't in his cell, he would know exactly where to find him. He had to find a way to get Chang away from the pharmacy. He only needed a minute. "You seen Olivia today?"

"Boy did I ever." Chang made an imaginary hourglass with his index fingers and smiled.

"I hear she's been talking about you." House knew this would work on Chang. He was desperate. He reminded him of Wilson in some ways.

"Really?" Chang was reacting. He hadn't had sex with his wife in two months. House knew this. Old editions of Playboy just weren't the same as watching a hot chick in a low cut blouse bending over to pick up something you dropped on purpose just to get a peek. Chang hurried off down the hall. It hadn't occurred to him that it was this level of unprofessionalism that made the other doctors look down on him.

House looked back and forth down the hall and slipped into the pharmacy Chang thought he had locked. It hadn't been hard to wedge a piece of paper in the doorway as Chang hurried to shut it. It was even easier to pull open the not locked door and slip inside. The hardest part was finding the Vicodin in a rush.

Then he heard a voice and his blood froze. What was she doing here? She wasn't supposed to be here. Mayfair didn't allow visitors. He turned around quickly, preparing an excuse in his head. She wasn't there. Of course she wasn't there. Lisa Cuddy was miles away, sleeping soundly without him. Or maybe she was awake and making breakfast for her daughter. Wherever she was, it wasn't here.

He looked down at the bottle he was holding. It felt good in his hand, the smooth, cool plastic that was his familiar comfort. He pushed the top down with the palm of his hand and turned it. He imagined he could hear the pills gasping for air as he released the cap. "Hello my little friends," he said as he poured a select group of them into his palm.

He was about to pop them into his mouth when he realized his time was limited. Better to take them to his room where he could truly cherish their soothing effects, so he hurried out of the pharmacy and back through the main hall to his own little cell.

Once in the safety of his room he opened his sweaty palm. There were five, no six small white pills smiling back at him. Each one of them was gummy from his nervous sweat. He moved his hand and watched them roll around.

His mind willed his arm to raise the pills to his lips. He had done it a million times before. His body knew which muscles had to be engaged to cause the arm to raise, to get his mouth to open, to insert the pills inside and close and swallow. It was like second nature to him. So why wasn't his arm moving? Why was his mouth still empty? Why hadn't the pain been snuffed out by his sweet, sweet Vicodin?

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hand, at the pills, at his utter failure when the door opened. He tried to make himself hide the pills, but his body seemed to have given up on him and he sat there, on the bed, staring at the handful of pills as Dr. Fry walked in.

Fry made a little, muffled snickering noise as he sat down beside House. "Chang is in big trouble you know."

"Is he?" House's voice was distant. He was only half participating in his own life right now. He wasn't sure where his other half had gone.

"He left the pharmacy door open and a patient was able to get in and steal drugs. That is a bad thing in a drug rehabilitation facility." Fry's tone wasn't anger or disappointment, it was actually quite matter of fact and complacent.

House was still staring at the pills.

"Have you taken any yet?" Fry asked, counting the six little white tablets in House's hand.

House shook his head slowly. He hadn't taken any had he?

"Do you plan on taking any now?" Fry watched him carefully. This was a defining moment in House's rehabilitation. It would have been easy to rip the bottle and the pills from his hands and forbid him to go near the pharmacy or punish him in some other way, but what would that have solved? House is not the kind of man to do as he is told, even if it is for his own good. No. This was a decision he was going to have to make for himself.

House furrowed his brow, thinking about that question as though his life depended on him giving the right answer. He had planned on taking them. That was the whole point of stealing them, wasn't it? So why hadn't he taken them? It had been well over an hour between his stealing the pills and Fry coming in to find him. What had he done in that time?

He shook the pill bottle. Maybe he had taken the pills. Maybe he had drained the bottle into his mouth leaving only the fallen soldiers in his hand as evidence. No, the bottle was still full. "I…" He couldn't answer. For once in his life he didn't know the answer.

"Might I make a suggestion?" Fry put a hand on House's back, gently, afraid he might scare him off. "Why don't you give those to me, and I will hold on to them for you for the rest of the day. If you decide you need them back, I will give them back to you. If you don't ask for them back by the end of the day, this incident never happened." He squeezed House's shoulder warmly. "Do you understand?"

House snapped out of his stupor. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Good. That's what I want to hear." Fry took the bottle from House's hand and nudged House to dump his handful back into it. He closed the cap. "What made you take the pills?" Fry had stuffed the bottle in his pocket and carried on as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it was the ceaseless tormenting PAIN!" House was back. Whatever spell had come over him had broken and he was his old miserable self again.

"I would like you to attend group therapy today." Fry's voice had a pondering tone to it, as though he had just come up with the idea.

"Why don't you just kick me out?"

"I think therapy would be more productive." Fry had decided. House was going to therapy.

To assure that there was no doubt, the rather large security guard arrived at House's door a few minutes before noon and escorted him to his execution. House trailed behind him, dragging his feet. He had spent the morning, after getting his inadequate dose of Vicodin, plotting ways to ruin the therapy session. He was bored, he was in pain and he needed something to take the edge off.

A group of five sat in a circle in folding chairs. Marcia, a wild, pretty young woman introduced herself as the consummate party girl. House thought she was mildy hot. Joe was a short, squat, exuberant man who refused to admit he had a problem even after losing his wife, children and job. House found him repulsive. Bert was a washed up rocker House didn't recognize who had drunk and snorted away his fortune and fame. Jordan was a plane, anemic looking model who clearly snorted herself thin like her idol Kate Moss. House was not impressed.

The only one who did impress him with her 36D push up bra and just went down on a guy smile was the ring leader of this little charade, Olivia Lucero. He had become aware of Olivia's presence at Mayfair on his third day. He saw her in the main room as he was shuffling through to the dining hall. He though, no hoped, he hoped she was there trying to deal with a sex addiction. That would have made him undeniably happy. He hadn't know she was one of the staff.

"You must be Greg," she said in her slight Brooklyn accent. "I'm Olivia. Welcome to the group."

"I am Greg." He was so used to being referred to as House both at work and with his friend Wilson that it sounded strange to hear and say his given name. "I'm…" He hadn't actually said the words out loud yet.

"It's okay Greg." Olivia seemed to understand. "Just have a seat. You don't have to say anything until you're ready."

House feared that the only thing he would be capable of saying at the moment was hubba hubba. Olivia was HOT. House was starting to gain a better appreciation for Dr. Fry. It took a shrewd man to know exactly what would get House to stay in group therapy and listen…half listen…not really pay attention to but not disrupt this group of losers he'd been stuck with.

"I try to only drink a little. It's not like I'm trying to get drunk," Marcia was talking but House had zoned out. He was trying to map out Olivia's body, which wasn't hard considering what she was wearing, for tonight, when he would toss her into the fantasy he was now having nightly with Cuddy.

Words were coming out of everyone's mouths, but House had his own internal dialog going on.

"Why isn't everyone laughing at how hilarious I am?" Joe protested loudly and with a humor only he seemed to appreciate.

"I want to throw up," Jordan replied pastily.

"Can I lick it off your chin?" Bert asked. House noticed that Bert's eyes hadn't lifted above bust level once yet. If asked by the cops in a matter of life or death House couldn't have said what color they were, though based on the bad weave the rocker wore, he'd guess blue.

"Greg, do you have anything you'd like to add?" Olivia was looking at him and he thought he felt a stirring.

"The Party Girl doesn't really have a problem, she just twenty two. Wigzilla wants a threeway with Party Girl and the Twig. I say let him have it. It'll give Twig something to choke on other than her finger. And Joe is just an arse."

"Nice." Olivia gave him the evil eye while the others broke into an incensed riot. "Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic!" House got up and started to walk away.

"This isn't over," she called after him as she tried to tend to her irate group.

For House, it was over. All of it. He couldn't do this. He walked into Fry's office with great purpose. His purpose was to get his drugs back.

"Are you sure?" Fry was disappointed when House burst through the door and demanded the bottle.

"Absolutely sure." House was standing before the seated man, his arm outstretch, hand in the surprised man's face. "And you said if I wanted it back, you would give it to me."

Fry frowned. "I lied."

"DAMN YOU!" House slammed his hand against the desk. The pain shot through him like a bullet, charging through his muscles with a ferocity matched only by his anger.

"Dr. House." Fry stood up and walked around the desk, cutting off House's exit, in case he tried to use it. "You came here for help. Let me help you. I want to help you."

"Why?" House took a step away from the helpful doctor. He distrusted people who wanted to help him.

"Why not? Is there a reason I shouldn't want to help you?" Fry noticed the small change in position and took a small step forward, just to gage House's reaction.

House felt like he was being backed into a corner. It might have been because he'd taken another step back and tripped against one of the chairs in front of Fry's desk, but it wasn't. It was because Fry was asking him a question he didn't have an answer to, at least not an answer he was comfortable giving.

"I can't think of anything," Fry continued, seeing that House wasn't going to answer him. "Unless you think you're not worth the effort for some reason." Fry smiled quickly. It was a flash of a smile that showed he didn't believe a word he was saying. "Do you think you're not worth the effort?"

House glared at Fry. He knew the man wouldn't back down until he got an answer, and House just didn't have the strength to make one up. "No," he mumbled, leaning his weight against the desk for support. He felt like he wanted to collapse.

Fry nodded absentmindedly. "I didn't think so."

"I just want to go home." House was defeated. He couldn't do this anymore. Not without his Wilson and Cuddy as his support. He thought he could do this alone, but he was wrong. He needed them.

"You want to go back to your old life?" Fry asked sincerely.

"No." It was true. House didn't want to, couldn't go back to the way things were. His old life was killing him slowly. He just wanted it to end, being in Mayfair, feeling so alone, being in pain, everything. He wanted off this crazy ride called life. He'd had enough. He was done. Life had won. He was ready to surrender.

"You miss your friends." It wasn't a question but a statement. Fry had been through all this before with people he found far less up to the challenge than House was. "You miss your house, your work, you miss being a free man. I know…"

"I was never a free man," House stated bluntly. He had always been trapped by his pain, by his leg, by the nagging insecurity that he was not the man people wanted him to be. That he was not the man SHE wanted him to be.

Fry looked at him for a moment. He was finally rendered speechless. House would have been grateful, only this was one of the few times he wanted Fry to say something.

"You think you know what it's like to be an addict, and maybe you do, but you don't know what it's like to be me. You don't know what it's like to be betrayed by your own body." Once he started it became impossible to stop. The flow of emotion felt like a cool drink, warming his throat with the words he'd wanted to say for years. "I am a diagnostician. Some say I'm the best in the world. But I couldn't diagnose a bloody infarction. An infarction!

"I should have known right away what was wrong with me. All the warning signs were there. The pain, the difficulty moving, it was all there and I didn't see it. I didn't see it!" He banged his cane against the front of the desk. The anger he had felt toward himself for over a decade was flooding over him. "And I blamed anyone I could. I couldn't admit that I screwed up. It wasn't Cuddy, it wasn't Dr. Burke, it wasn't any of the doctors at any of the clinics I visited. None of them specialized in Diagnostics. None of them could have diagnosed something I couldn't.

"Why? Why couldn't I figure out what was happening in my own body?" He wasn't really asking, but Fry answered.

"Sometimes we are too close to the puzzle to really see it…"

"Don't give me that crap!" House almost threw his cane at the man who was just trying to help him. He didn't know what was happening. All these years he'd been able to repress these feelings of self doubt, of self hatred, and now there was no way he could have stopped the flood of words spilling from his mouth. "I should have seen it! I should have figured it out!" He was pounding his chest with his fist. He didn't care if it hurt. The agony he was feeling was far beyond physical now.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for…"

"Why not?" House wasn't going to let Fry rationalize the anger away. He wanted to embrace it. He wanted to wrap himself in his rage like a warm blanket. He wanted it to suffocate him. "I'm still living with the consequences of my mistake." He motioned to his leg, a constant reminder of his biggest failure. "I am here because I couldn't diagnose a simple infarction."

"Where do you think you would be if you had diagnosed it? How do you think your life would be different?" Fry was not afraid of House. He was easily twice his weight and would be able to pin him in a fight without breaking a sweat. It was something House, being a tall, formidable man, wasn't used to. It caught him off guard enough to actually think about the question.

"I wouldn't be here." It was the most childish answer he could think of. Even his voice was that of a petulant child.

"Where would you be?" Fry was not amused.

House had no answer so Fry tried to prod him on a bit.

"We know you wouldn't be in rehab," Fry wasn't so sure of that actually, but he didn't want to upset House any more than he was. "But would you be working at Princeton Plainsboro?"

"Yes." He had been hired just before. He couldn't imagine Cuddy would have fired him just because guilt about his leg wasn't hanging over her head.

"Would you be married?"

House thought of Stacy. He had been living with her prior to the infarction. He had known she wanted to get married, but he hadn't been willing to commit that far. Living together had already started to take its toll on their relationship. He was already spending at least as much time with Wilson as he was with her. "No." He wasn't the marrying kind.

"It took you a while to answer that one. Was there someone significant in your life before the infarction?" House's living arrangements hadn't been listed in any of his medical or work records.

"Yes, but it wouldn't have lasted anyway." House thought of Cuddy. Would she have put up with him as long as she had if it weren't for the guilt she felt over the operation that crippled him?

"What are you thinking about?" Fry noticed a chance in House's expression. An unhappy change that toned the anger down to a deep sort of sadness.

House snapped out of it. "It is pointless to dwell on things that never happened. I had an infarction. I didn't detect it in time and Cuddy ripped out part of my leg. There is no way to change any of that. There is no point in dreaming about…" he stopped himself.

"About what?" Fry was more curious than ever. "What is it you dream about Dr. House?"

"my Vicodin!" He held out his hand defiantly. "Now give it to me!"

Fry sighed and went back to his desk. He unlocked his drawer and rumpled through it until he pulled out a small amber bottle. He put the bottle on the desk top and held it for a moment. He could see House eying it. He could see what could only be described as lust in the man's weary eyes. "I said I would give this back to you, and I am a man of my word. But before you take it, I want you to think long and hard about what you are giving up." What that was, Fry had no idea. He only knew that no one committed themselves to Mayfair without a damned good reason, and from the torment etched on House's face, it was clear that his damned good reason was weighing heavy on his mind.

"It's all I can think about in this prison!" House reached over and grabbed the bottle out of Fry's hand. "It's all I ever think about." He struggled with the cap as Fry looked on with deep sadness.

"Maybe if you told me what that reason was…" He wanted to help, he just didn't know how, not with House.

In frustration because he couldn't get the cap open, House threw the bottle across the room. He was aiming for Fry's head, but the man was surprisingly agile and dodged out of the way. "I'm leaving!"

Fry once again most swiftly to cut off House's escape. "If you had somewhere to go, you wouldn't have come here in the first place." Fry put his hands on House's shoulders, but quickly removed them, not looking for a fight. "Dr. House, we both know that Mayfair is a last resort. No one comes here if they have any other options.

"You are right in thinking this is a prison, and you are a prisoner here. But that's how it has to be because Mayfair is for people who have exhausted all other options. This is, for all intents and purposes, your last chance. It is up to you whether or not you are going to blow it." Fry then stepped aside, allowing House the freedom to leave if he choose to.

House left Fry's office wordlessly. He stormed down the hall in a fury. He was going to leave. Screw this place. Screw rehab. Screw life.


	13. Late Night, Maudlin Street

**LATE NIGHT, MAUDLIN STREET **

Cuddy agreed to meet Wilson for dinner at the Cannery. She spotted him at a table by the window, overlooking the lake. She gave him a polite wave and walked over as he stood up to greet her. Kisses on the cheek were exchanged, even though they'd seen each other a few hours earlier at work.

"I'm glad you came." Wilson had been trying to get Cuddy out of the house all week. He was worried about her. He was worried about himself. They had both hidden themselves away from the world. They both seemed lost without House.

"Thanks for inviting me." She was having a flashback of their first and only 'date'. It had been a disaster. She didn't have very high hopes for this dinner either.

Wilson looked at her nervously. "I wasn't sure you'd come." He didn't know what else to say. How do you comfort someone when you don't even know how to comfort yourself?

"I wasn't sure either. Rachel's been restless lately and…"

"Rachel's been restless?" Wilson wondered. He had a feeling Cuddy was the only who was restless and Rachel was probably just picking up on it.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. She knew what he was implying. Then she reminded herself that he had lost his best friend and her face softened a little. "Have you heard from him at all?"

"No. I called a few times, but they said he isn't allowed contact, not for the first few weeks."

"I'm worried." She finally broke down and admitted it.

"Me too Lisa, me too." Wilson reached out and put his hand on top of hers. She almost pulled away, surprised by the small sign of affection, but she didn't. She just smiled weakly and realized that Wilson was just being…Wilson.

They sat in silence for a moment, his hand still resting on hers until she finally pulled away. "I still don't understand why he chose Mayfair." She had been wrestling with that question ever since House left.

"He needs to do this on his own." Wilson let his hand stay where it was for a moment before pulling it into his lap.

"Well, I hate it. I hate that I don't know how he is doing. I hate that I can't be there to help him. I hate that he…that I couldn't help him." She wanted to get up and leave but she couldn't do that to Wilson.

"You did help him Lisa. He wouldn't be in Mayfair if it weren't for you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She almost barked at him.

"It should." Wilson didn't realize how she was taking what he had said. He hadn't meant that she had failed House. What he meant was… "House doesn't change for anybody. Ever. He doesn't do anything for anybody. He's selfish." He saw her preparing to protest. "Come on Lisa, we both know his flaws. We know them better than anybody. House can be a cruel, selfish basstard."

"That's not the part of him I like to think about," she conceded.

"I know it's not. I don't like to think about it either, but that doesn't change the facts." He went to reach for her hand again but noticed her pull away quickly. He told himself it was just coincidence. "And it doesn't change the fact that he left because he knew it was best for you. He cares about you Lisa and he didn't want to keep hurting you."

"Then he shouldn't have left." She was about to leave herself, but Wilson caught her and eased her back into her seat.

"Look, I didn't want tonight to turn into an argument. I just thought we could both use some companionship. Someone who understands."

"That's the problem James, I don't understand. I didn't ask him to leave."

"That's the point, Lisa. He knew you would never ask him to leave. He is doing what he thinks is right, and right or wrong, I think we should encourage him."

"How? He can't even taking my calls." She wanted to hit that soft, sympathetic face looking sadly at her from across the table.

"You've called him?" Wilson was mildly surprised.

"Every day. But leave it to House to find the one place on Earth where he doesn't have to talk to me." She was angry again. She had been oscillating between angry, sad, disappointed and guilty for days now. She liked anger best because it had the most satisfying outlet. Only Wilson wasn't her gym punching bag and this wasn't really the place to start a physical altercation.

"Don't take it so personally." Wilson came to regret those words as he watched Cuddy get up and storm out. This was exactly why she'd been avoiding him for the past week. Wilson saw the world through some romantic notion that love could conquer all. An odd way for a thrice divorced man to think, but that was Wilson.

He thought that House was doing something noble and selfless by locking himself away from everyone who cared about him and every responsibility he had. Cuddy thought he was hiding. House hated to fail. For as long as she'd known him he refused to fail. And if he thought he was about to fail at something, he would run.

That was what had her so worried. House wouldn't have left if he didn't have doubts. If the detox had been working, he would have stayed. He would have gloated. He would have rubbed his sobriety in her face somehow. He would have made it his life's work to annoy her with his success, but at least he would have been there. Now he was gone and she was left to wonder if he had faltered.

She pulled the car into her driveway and shut off the engine. Then she sat there, hands still on the steering wheel, staring at the darkness in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the light pouring through the nursery door. She saw a shadow passing back and forth. Rita was probably singing to Rachel. Rita had a beautiful voice. It had a hypnotic effect on the baby.

Cuddy leaned back in the driver's seat and watched them, the shadows, dancing across the window. She wanted to run inside and hold her little girl, but she didn't. Rachel didn't need her right now. Rachel was probably better off without her. Maybe Wilson was right. She thought she heard Rachel giggle. She knew it couldn't be true, she was too far away to hear that, but it seemed so real and it tore at her heart.

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a number that had become all too familiar to her. She asked the same question she had asked every day since she found out where House had gone. "I'm calling for an update on Greg House?"

"What do you mean gone?" She felt a large, strong hand wrap over her mouth to muffle her scream as another hand carefully pulled the phone out of her hand.

"It's me," he whispered in her ear and at first she thought she had imagined it. Then he tossed the phone on the seat beside her and carefully removed his hand from her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" She was trying to start breathing again by taking large gulps of air.

His face was deep with lines, his pain and torment etched into each one. She couldn't look at him. She turned away, facing forward, only her eyes remained glued to the rear view mirror, unable to pull away from his image.

"I need you Cuddy." His hands had slipped away, too weak to keep hold of her.

"You need to go back to Mayfair." The words pained her, like swallowing a hand full of needles, but she had to say it. It was the right thing to say. She didn't realize she was gripping the steering wheel so tightly her fingers were losing feeling in their tips.

"They can't help me the way you can." His hand was gently brushing her hair. He had only been a week but he couldn't believe how much he had missed being close to her. He leaned in and took a deep breath. He had almost forgotten how flowery her hair smelled.

"I can't help you House." She leaned forward, pulling away from his touch. It hurt too much feeling him so close. Knowing he was so far away.

"I think you're the only one who can." He had shoved his body between the two front seats and was now perched uncomfortably on the arm rest between them. It was painful, but he had to be near her, he had to see her face. Her face was like ice, motionless and frozen in a look of nervous confusion. "Please. I need you." His voice cracked as he spoke. This wasn't a joke, or some manipulative trick, she suddenly realized he meant was he was saying.

"I…" she didn't know what she was going to say but she didn't have to think of anything because House's lips pressed down hard against hers. When he pulled away she felt his loss. She started to cry. And once she started, she found it impossible to stop.

Between sobs she heard House get out of the car. She heard him moving around behind her and then the door and she thought she'd lost him. Then she heard the passenger door open and felt him pull her down against his shoulder and she sobbed harder.

She tried to pull herself together, for his sake, but the emotion of the past few days had caught up with her. As soon as she'd heard his voice it had taken all of her strength not to fall apart. Now falling apart was all she could do.

"I don't think I'm strong enough," she said through sniffles.

House reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue. It was crumbled but unused. He handed it to her and she blew her nose. "You're the strongest person I know. I don't want to do this without you. I can't." He probably could, but he didn't want to. He also knew that not wanting to wouldn't be good enough. He had to need her or she would tell him to go back.

"You're just saying that." She tried to smile, to lighten the heavy air that surrounded them. It worked. House's heart skipped a beat as it beamed on him.

"Maybe, but I want to do this with you." He took her hand in his, swallowing it with his long fingers.

"What about Mayfair?" Her hand felt so safe inside his, like a child wrapped in warm swaddling. She never wanted him to let go of her.

He looked down at their entwined hands. "I stole a bottle of Vicodin today." He felt like a boy in Confession, only this time he was almost repentant.

"Oh House." She put her hand to his cheek and looked deeply into his eyes. He looked haunted and it devastated her such that she had to look away.

"I didn't take any." He wanted desperately for her to believe him.

"Why did you steal it then?" She noticed that he was still holding her hand, rather tightly, as though afraid she might get away. She didn't try to stop him.

"I…don't know." He finally pulled his hands away from hers, but only because he was about to lose it and he didn't want her to see him cry. He rubbed away the threat of tears with the palms of his hands and ran his long fingers through his hair. "I don't know!" He was nearly shouting now, as if sheer volume would make the answers come.

"Shhhh." It was her turn to comfort him as he cried. She pulled herself closer, getting stuck for a moment by her seatbelt. She unbuckled it and moved toward him. She felt him collapse against her. He was no longer afraid to cry in front of her. He didn't have the strength to care.

House wept. He wept like he hadn't in thirty plus years. He couldn't stop himself. Once the flood gate opened, there was no closing it. He would hate himself in the morning. He would be ashamed of letting her see him like this, but right now all he could do was release all the tension and anger and frustration he'd been feeling for years and the only way he could do that was through tears.

He would have rather hit something, anything. He would have rather caused himself more harm, more pain, like he usually did, but he didn't want to do that in front of her. Not even if it meant crying in front of her instead.

Cuddy didn't seem to mind. She held him in her arms and whispered empty words to him. He didn't really hear what she was saying, but the sound of her soft, cooing voice soothed him. It made him feel safe and protected and cared about. His mother was the only other person who had ever seen him cry, and she had cared about him and made him feel the same warm safe feeling he felt now.

When the crying stopped, which it did, sooner than it actually seemed to, House pulled himself back upright. He wanted to say something to her. He wanted to apologize for being a blubbering idiot. He wanted to yell at her for letting him lose control. Instead he sat staring at her. He could tell she'd been crying too. Not the uncontrollable sobbing he was doing, but a soft, sad trickle of tears so that he didn't feel quite so alone.

"Why don't you come in for the night. We'll figure out what to do in the morning." Cuddy would have stayed all night in the car if that is what he wanted. It was pointless to deny that she would do anything for him, but she saw no real reason why he couldn't come in and be comfortable.

He sniffled and nodded his head. He still couldn't speak. He was terrified of what might come out of his mouth if he opened it.

"Good. Wait and I'll come round." She got out of the car, grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder then gently shut the driver's door. She circled around the back of her BMW and opened his door. Gently, with great care she slipped her arm under his and helped ease him out of the car.

House had never looked so old. She hated seeing him like this, and she knew he hated anyone seeing him like this, so she remained silent as they slowly inched their way to the front door. Rita must have seen them because the door opened before them just as Cuddy was reaching out her hand for the knob.

"Dr. Cuddy, you're home." She sounded relieved. "I am late." She was about to hand Rachel to her mother when she saw that Cuddy already had her hands full with some old guy. So she walked over to Rachel's playpen and gently lowered the baby into it. She kissed her forehead gently, chuckled her chin and then skipped off toward the door. "I would stay but, I already have plans."

"It's okay Rita." Cuddy assumed House would rather not have a stranger hanging around.

House sat on the sofa while Cuddy got him some water then sat down beside him with Rachel in her arms. "It's too late to get another sitter," she said apologetically.

House looked at the baby. She had grown a bit since he last saw her, but then, babies did that. It wasn't all that impressive. He looked at Cuddy. She was watching Rachel carefully. There was such love in her eyes. He wanted her to look at him like that. And then he felt that deep strain of jealously washing over him again.

"I will fix up the spare room for you." Cuddy was holding Rachel in her arms, looking around for some place to put her.

"Why do I have to sleep in the spare room?" House did not come all this way to be that far from her.

"I…" She just wasn't used to having him in her bed, but that excuse sounded wrong somehow. "Can you watch Rachel for a moment? I have to go do something." She leaned over and placed the baby in House's arms without waiting for his reply. Really, watching her for two minutes while Cuddy took a bathroom break was the least he could do under the circumstances.

House watched her vanish down the hall before looking down at the kid in his arms. "Well hello," he said to her as she squirmed in his arms. "And what am I supposed to do with you?"

Rachel looked up at him and cooed and did all those cute things babies do to get everything they want from grownups. But she wasn't getting any response from this one. His face remained cold and clinical, like he was studying her. He reminded her of that guy she had to see periodically who stuck things in her ears and mouth and made notes in some chart and said she was doing great. But at least that guy smiled at her and made funny noises.

"Your Mother is going to be very busy tonight, with ME, so don't get any ideas about waking up in the middle of the night for feedings, or having your diaper changed. She's going to be far too busy for that." He was holding her up to his face but carefully. He had nothing against babies. They were too young to have developed any of the personality traits that made people so annoying to him. He just didn't particularly care for this baby, because this baby was taking Cuddy away from him.

Rachel spit up on him.

"Oh, damn!" House dropped her lightly on the couch and started brushing at the spittle on his shirt.

Rachel was crawling across the couch cushions when Cuddy returned. "House!" She ran and grabbed her daughter before the girl dropped off the edge of the couch. "You can't just leave her like that. She doesn't know not to crawl off the side." She held Rachel tightly in her arms, more worried than the child was.

"She puked on me." House held up the shirt he was dabbing with a wet paper towel.

"So? It's not like you haven't thrown up on yourself before." She put Rachel in her bouncy chair and came to help House. He was making more of a mess than he was cleaning. "Let me do that."

House had no problem letting her. He even leaned over her shoulder and stuck his tongue out at baby Rachel. He had won this round.

"There, that's as good as it's going to get. I'll wash your clothes tomorrow." She started to unbutton his shirt. "I'll find something for you to wear tonight."

"Don't bother. I like sleeping in the nude." House let her finish removing his shirt. He liked being undressed by her. He was surprised to find that he liked her doing things for him. He usually didn't, preferring to be self sufficient, not needing anyone, but there was something about her nurturing touch that made him feel good. He didn't want it to stop.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't try anything." She knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she felt it had to be said, just for appearances sake.

House grabbed her hand. He had to tell her why he was here. He had to make her understand, without sounding, well, like himself. "Cuddy."

"What?" She could see he wanted to say something, so she sat down beside him and waited.

"When I said I needed you…I wasn't trying to be romantic."

"I didn't think you were being romantic House." It just wasn't in his nature.

"You're the only one who can help me." He put his hand on her knee and slowly slid it up the top of her thigh.

"Mayfair has a lot of good doctors who specialize in…"

"You aren't listening to me." He put his finger to her lips. They quivered at his touch. "I need you." He reiterated this fact by slipping his hand between her legs.

Cuddy straightened up at his touch, trying to get away but not really wanting to. "Not in front of the baby." She looked over at Rachel who had drifted off to sleep.

"Your room then." House got up and took her hand, pulling her to her feet.

"I…"She couldn't say no to him. "I have to put Rachel to bed." She sounded apologetic.

"I'll stay in the guest room." House turned away from her.

Cuddy flailed, unsure what to do. "You don't have to do that. I'll…"

"Take care of your kid." House limped down the hall.

The pain in his leg flared up as he struggled painfully down the hall. He tried to move faster, not wanting her to see how much pain he was in.

He stopped for a moment and looked behind him. Cuddy was holding Rachel in her arms. He wondered if she was happy. He remembered the struggle she'd had when she first got Rachel. She claimed that she had since bonded with the child, but had she? She still spent long hours at work. She still wined and dined potential donors. She didn't date much, according to the calendar he had hacked into on her computer, but then, she really hadn't dated much before Rachel came, he had seen to that.

Cuddy was turning toward the hall. House broke off his reverie and made his way to her room. He hoped she wouldn't be long. He was sleepy but he needed a fix if he was going to make it through the night.


	14. This Night Has Opened My Eyes

**THIS NIGHT HAS OPENED MY EYES  
**

Cuddy's voice carried through the hall and into House's sleepy ears. She was singing Rachel to sleep, something House couldn't place. Not a children's song as he would have expected. Something from the seventies, maybe the sixties; a love song. He wanted her to be thinking of him as she sang it.

Rachel had finally fallen asleep. Cuddy could feel her grow heavy in her arms. She felt guilty as she placed her gently in her crib. It seemed like lately the only time she spent with Rachel was the child was sleeping. "I love you," she whispered as she kissed the child on the forehead.

She left the door open just a little, as she always did, and checked that the baby monitor was on then she headed to her room. She hoped to find House sleeping. She wasn't sure she wanted to deal with him tonight, but he wasn't. He was lying in bed, propped up on pillows reading the book she was halfway through.

"You're good with her." He closed the book and tossed it to the floor.

She thanked him hesitantly as she walked over and picked up the book, placing it back on the bedside table. "I think you should go back to Mayfair tomorrow. I can drive you and…"

"NO!"

"But you need help." She was in the bathroom, changing. She had left the door open a bit so they could talk.

"I need you." He was going to keep telling her that until she got it.

"I'm not qualified to help you House." She came out wearing a loose, white nightgown. She looked like an angel.

"You're more qualified than you know." The light from the lamp glowed through her nightgown, outlining the curves of her body.

"I can't let you just come back to work like nothing happened." She climbed into bed and slipped under the covers.

"Why not?"

She looked at him in reply.

"I stole a bottle of Vicodin Cuddy. I didn't even break a sweat. It was ridiculously easy."

"But you didn't take any of the pills." She clung to that belief, but House's silence spoke volumes. "Oh House." Her hand went to her mouth as her eyes frowned.

"I'm not a saint Cuddy. Hell, I'm not even a halfway decent guy. I'm an arse. And I'm selfish. And I'm an addict." He had said it, and it felt strange in his mouth. The word fell hard against his tongue.

"That's why you need to go back." She was holding his hands now. Hers were moist with tears. His were moist with sweat. It had been a few hours since he took the pills and their effect had worn off. Now his body was revolting against him.

"Sleep with me tonight, please. Then I'll go back." He saw her hesitating. "Please." Gregory House never said please for anything. It wasn't in his nature to need. And if he did need something, he usually managed to manipulate his way into getting it. But he didn't want to manipulate her into sleeping with him. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted her to know how much it meant to him.

Cuddy bit her lip and brushed her hand against his cheek. "Are you sure you can…"

"I'm sure." House was already pulling at his boxers. Cuddy couldn't stop herself from smiling. There was something irresistible about a grown man that desperate to get her into bed, or perhaps it was that the grown man in question was House, the man she had wanted for nearly twenty years.

Cuddy leaned in and kissed him, her other hand placed gently on his other cheek, tilting his head at an angle that worked for her. House obliged, willing to twist or turn any way she wanted him to. He was already feeling the pain being pushed away, melting as her tongue slipped past his lips and into his mouth.

He tugged at her nightgown as they kissed. She had to lift her weight slightly in order for him to get it off, but she did so without a word spoken between them. If she hadn't, he would have ripped it off, and she was well aware of that fact. The nightgown was a gift from her grandmother, who had handmade all the lace around the edges and she didn't want to ruin it.

Cuddy lowered him onto his back with the ease of a professional. She knew her way around a bed. House hadn't even noticed how or when she had climbed over him, but there she was, straddling his waist, her body glowing before him like a temple. A temple he wanted to barge through with a battering ram. A temple whose walls he wanted to tremble under his attack.

He pulled her down against him, exploring her skin with his hands. He felt her mouth on his neck, sucking at him like a vampire, pulling the blood to the surface. He smiled as he thought of the mark it would leave. His smile widened as he imagined explaining it to the jealous Fry. Maybe returning to Mayfair wasn't such a bad thing after all.

He kissed her and explored her and slipped his hand softly between her legs, feeling them part for him like the Red Sea. "You're so easy," he whispered to her as his fingers slid across the tuft of hair between her legs.

"Shut up House." He was ruining the mood. If he wasn't so good with his hands she would have pushed him away, but it was all she could do to stop from crying out as his finger slid between her lips playfully.

"Make me," he said, leaning over to kiss her. As he pressed himself against her his long, lean fingers slid deeper inside of her making her gasp.

He enjoyed giving her pleasure, and leaned back to watch her face as he moved in and out of her, slowly, quickly, his fingers searching for that special spot. He loved the way her face contorted with pleasure. She was unabandoned when it came to sex, holding nothing back. He felt her pulling at him, trying to hold him as tightly as possible, wanting to consume him in her embrace.

"Do you like that?" he asked, squeezing her arse tightly with his free hand and knowing her answer before she spoke it.

"Yes," she nodded her head with a playful smile, "but I'd like this more." He fingers danced down between them, circling around his shaft gently.

House began to breathe heavily as she took him in her hand. "Don't stop," he told her as she gently stroked him back and forth before guiding him into her.

House pulled himself on top of her, forcing her onto her back. He felt powerful, virile. He liked the feeling immensely. He hadn't felt this way in a long time and he wasn't sure why now, with her, he was feeling it, but if knowing meant losing the feeling then he didn't want to know.

"Are you sure…" she was worried about him. She worried about him too much. He hated it. He didn't feel worthy of it. He silenced her with a finger then followed it with his lips. He didn't want her to voice her concerns and ruin the moment. He was afraid that even mentioning his leg would bring the pain back and he would do anything to stop that from happening.

He was sure. Sure he wanted her. Sure that what they were doing was easing his pain. He wasn't sure how, and right now he didn't care. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. And he wasn't going to stop until that one thing exploded all over her sheets.

House grunted with each thrust. A desperate need building inside him. He could feel it building, like the pressure in a balloon, pushing at the edges of his being, threatening to burst at any moment. And then it happened. The valve was switched and the pressure released deep inside of her, dripping out as he pulled himself free and fell onto his back.

He panted heavily as his dick stood high between his legs, glistening with the juice of his pleasure.

Cuddy leaned over him, her hand rested gently on his sweaty chest and kissed him deeply. "You impress me Dr. House." She smiled down at him.

"I impress myself," he replied, pulling her to him.

"How…" as a doctor she had questions. She knew how intense his pain was each and every day. She knew the agony he went through because he wouldn't let her forget it. And yet, when she looked down at his face, at the contented bliss playing across his lips, she saw no sign of it.

"Don't," he told her simply, not wanting to disturb the gentle spell that still rested over him.

And so they slept, her head resting gently on his chest, his arm pulled tightly over her waist. And he stared at the ceiling wondering why it couldn't be like this forever. "I love you Lisa." He gently brushed away a bit of her hair and leaned over and kissed the top of her head. He knew she was sleeping or he wouldn't have said what he did, but the words felt good as they passed his lips and he felt a warmth inside of him that he didn't think he was capable of any longer.

He now knew what he had to do. Slipping quietly out of the bed he got dressed and headed to the living room. He stopped for a moment and looked in on Rachel. She was sleeping as soundly as her mother. "You take care of her," he said in a whisper as he closed the door back to a crack, the way it had been and continued on his journey.

He stared into a glass of bourbon as he waited for the cab. He swirled the amber liquid around, watching it, mesmerized by the pattern he made. Then he put it too his lips and drained it. He put the glass down next to a picture frame. It was a picture of Cuddy holding Rachel. He picked it up.

His first thought was, who had taken the picture. She looked so happy, that smile he knew so well lit up her face and Rachel was dressed in a red velvet dress he didn't recognize. Cuddy was holding her carefully, happy, but tentative. It was taken a while ago, when she'd first gotten Rachel, before she was truly comfortable with the baby.

When the cab pulled up outside House was still holding the photograph. The cabbie blew the horn and snapped House out of his daydream; a daydream that included him in that photo; a daydream that would never come true if he didn't go.

"You should really go House." The familiar voice sent a chill down his spine.

"I thought you were gone." He turned and glared at the redhead who had taken residence in his head.

"And then you went and took those pills." Amber was sitting on the arm of the sofa, leaning casually next to him. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I think you missed me."

House stood up. "Go away!"

Amber laughed at him as she rested her head on her hand. "I'm not going anywhere. Not when you've got a whole bottle of pills in your pocket." She smirked. "Well, not a whole bottle."

"Shut up!" House dug into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the bottle. She was laughing at him. He pulled it out and hurled it at her.

She vanished, but reappeared behind him. "What's that going to solve?"

The cab beeped again. "It's time for you to leave her again. Just walk out that door and you won't have to deal with her smothering and her nagging you about your pills. You can do whatever you want." Amber was playing with his ear. Flicking it annoyingly. He swatted at her but she wouldn't stop. "And you won't have any messy fall out to deal with." She jumped up and was holding a suitcase, her coat on and a hat, angled jauntily over her eye. She looked like Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. He really needed to stop watching old movies at night.

"You want me to go?" This shed new light on things.

"Of course. You want to go." Amber looked nervous. She fidgeted with the collar of her coat. "You called the cab."

"Did I?" House couldn't remember.

"Yes, now come on." Amber tugged at his arm, trying to get him to move. "Before the cab driver leaves."

It was too late. They both heard the cab peel away down the street. Amber released him and fell onto the couch. "Now see what you did? We're stuck here. Can't call Wilson." She looked a little softer as she said his name. "He thinks this is what we want."

"Isn't it?" House was confused. He looked at the picture of Cuddy and Rachel.

"No!" Amber was furious. "We want to be free from all of this. No attachments, no worries." She flung her arms up in the air. "What would Cuddy say, if she knew you had taken Vicodin again?"

House felt smug indignation rising in him. "She knows."

"She knows?" Amber deflated a little.

"And she supports me." House felt himself growing stronger.

"Well, she's crazy." Amber felt herself growing weak.

"And I'm going to go back to Mayfair, for her!" House was standing tall now, confident in his decision.

"Well then…you're an idiot." Amber sunk down in her chair like a little child.

House laughed to himself. He was finally starting to get it. "You're the idiot. And I'm not going to let you ruin this for me. Not this time." He focused all his attention on her, narrowing his eyes and hunching forward.

Amber burst out laughing. "You're trying to make me go away aren't you?" She was amused. Her power was coming back. "You think it's that easy?"

"I think, when I go back to Mayfair, you're going to go away for good."

"Until the pain gets to you, and you steal another bottle of pills." Amber walked over and picked up the bottle he had thrown. It had rolled under a side table. She was holding it out to him, rattling it temptingly. "You want one now, don't you?" She could see it in his eyes. He was practically salivating.

House was tempted. Oh, he wanted one. He wanted one so bad he could feel it, swirling around in his mouth, he could feel the smooth edges, his tongue could feel the small markings that denoted what brand it was. He could feel it slipping toward his throat, feel it…

House spit wildly until a small white pill came shooting out. "No!" He yelled, wanting to throw it at her, knowing it would do no good. He rushed at her and took the bottle of pills. He ran into the bathroom and poured the bottle into the toilet. He flushed.

The little pills circled round and round and he almost reached down and tried to stop them. He almost shoved his hand in the whole, blocking them from escaping. But a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "What do you want now," he snapped, turning on her. It wasn't Amber.

"I'm proud of you." She knew he wouldn't want to hear that, but she had to say it because she meant it. It took a lot for him to flush those pills and she knew that.

"I need to go back!" House fell against her. His head cradled in her stomach as he wept, deep, gut wrenching tears. "I'm sick Cuddy."

"Shhh." She ran her hand over his head gently, trying to sooth him.

"I saw Amber." He felt her hand freeze as his words sunk in. It took her a moment to process what he had said and then she knelt down beside him.

"You're having hallucinations?" She had gone into doctor mode, checking his eyes for dilation, feeling his chest for palpitations. He was showing some signs of stress.

"I'm fine…physically. It's my head that's screwed up." He had eased himself into a sitting position on the bathroom floor. He wasn't entirely fine physically. His leg was throbbing. He fought the urge to massage it, not wanting to worry her.

"How long has this been going on?" She was already worried.

"It stopped for a while."

"Stopped? House, how long have you been hallucinating?"

"If you'd stop nagging me I'd tell you." He realized his tone was too strong, she was only trying to help. "They started after Kutner died."

"You don't blame yourself…"

"Please, let me finish." It was hard enough saying this to her without her constant interruptions. "Amber started showing up everywhere." She was about to interrupt him. "Yes, just Amber. And yes, I do feel guilty about her death. How could I not? She was on that bus because of me. And no I don't want you to tell me it's not my fault and I need to accept that." He saw her mouth open and close several times during his little speech. "She went away though…" he thought about it, "right around the time we…around the time I started detoxing."

"And she just came back?" He nodded. "After you took the pills?" He nodded again.

"But I've been taking them at Mayfair." He didn't want to face the truth.

"In limited doses. Have you talked to the doctors there about it?" She was sitting beside him on the floor. Her hand resting carelessly in his. They could have been in a garden having a picnic.

"Doctor…Fry. He's a twit."

"Well, did you tell that twit about your hallucinations?"

"No." It hadn't even crossed his mind.

Cuddy took a deep breath. "House, you need to take this seriously."

"I am taking it seriously."

"By stealing Vicodin and running off into the night?"

"I didn't run off into the night. I told Fry I was quitting."

"And he let you just walk out?"

"I told you he was a twit."

She laughed gently. It was a pleasant sound. "Get better House. I miss you." She wrapped her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder.

"I miss you too." He let his head rest on hers.


	15. Will Never Marry

**WILL NEVER MARRY**

House returned to Mayfair the next morning. Cuddy drove him. It was a huge step. Part of it was also because he didn't want to leave her a moment before he had to. He was building up to telling her he loved her. He had written it in a note, which she hadn't asked him about.

Unlike his ride with Wilson, this one was filled with conversation. Cuddy had a million questions for him, mainly about the hallucinations. What did Amber do when he saw her? What did she say? How often did she show up? Was there any pattern to it? Was it after he took more pills?

He thought her constant questions would drive him mad, but instead they made the hour rush by far too quickly. Soon he saw the stone edifice of Mayfair rising up before them.

"That's ominous," Cuddy said as the car slowly approached. House noticed she had started to drive slower the closer they got to their destination.

"For me, that's home." House tried to grin but failed.

"Not for long." She stopped the car in front of the door and turned to face him. "Promise me you're going to try this time.

House looked at her earnestly. "Will you believe me if I do?"

Her weak smile told him the answer. "No, but do it anyway."

"I promise I will really try this time." He reached over and kissed her; then he glanced into the back seat at Rachel. He could feel Cuddy smiling at him. "Remember what I told you," he told the infant before getting out of the car.

"What?" Cuddy went scrambling out after him. "What did you tell her?"

House had not brought his small bag of belongings to Cuddy's house and therefore was about to make an escape knowing she wouldn't leave Rachel in the car alone. "That's between me and her." House winked at the baby who, for a moment, he thought might have tried to wink back. Then he realized it was just a trick of the lights.

Cuddy knew he didn't want her to come with him so she stood by the side of the car and watched him vanish through the large doors. When she got back in the driver's seat she turned to her daughter. "What did he tell you to do?" She cooed in baby talk, putting her finger out for Rachel to grab. "He didn't tell you to be a brat and drive me crazy did he?" Rachel gurgled her reply. Cuddy wasn't sure if it was meant to be a yes or a no.

House fully expected Dr. Fry to be waiting by the door, ready to read him the riot act. What he was not ready for was the vengeful Olivia.

"You're just in time Mr. House." She had her arms folded across her nearly exposed chest and was taping one foot wildly. For a moment he thought it was Cuddy staring him down in the halls of PPTH. Then he got a hold of himself.

"Just in time for what?" He really didn't want to be just in time for anything but a nap, but he had a feeling that wasn't what she had in mind, though, looking her up and down, he wouldn't say no.

"For your therapy session."

"You've been holding the group hostage all this time, waiting for my return? I'm flattered."

She shook her head slowly with a smile on her crimson lips. "You're not ready for the group Mr. House. This is going to be a one on one session."

"Just you and me…alone together? Can it be in my room? Preferably in my bed…"

"My office is just down this hall." She turned and headed to her office, confident House would follow. Much to his own surprise, he did.

"I don't need therapy," he said, hurrying to keep up.

"That's not your call to make."

"I'm a doctor. I'm qualified to make that decision."

She turned to face him. He nearly crashed into her, but she seemed more amused than anything else. "Mr. House, here at Mayfair, you are a patient. You can't go around diagnosing yourself or prescribing yourself pain killers. Your medical degree holds no power here."

"Yes Ma'am." House distracted himself by thinking of this one fantasy he had where…

"Are you coming in?" She held open the door and moved aside for him to pass. He passed much too closely and sat down while she shut the door and joined him. "Why don't you start by telling me why you left yesterday?"

"Booty call."

She sighed just like Cuddy used to sigh at him. It made him miss her even more. "Mr. House, if you are not going to take this seriously I don't know how we will get anything accomplished."

"But I am taking this seriously. You asked a question and I gave you the answer."

"You expect me to believe that you left drug rehab to get laid?"

"Your believing it or not doesn't make it more or less true. Unless you're God. Are you God?"

"I am not God, Mr. House."

"Please, call me Greg." He liked it when hot women called him Greg. Except Cuddy. The only time she called him Greg was when she felt pity for him.

"Very well Greg. So you're in a relationship?" She decided to try a new track with him.

"No."

"Hooker?" It wouldn't be the first time a man admitted to partaking of the world's oldest professionals.

"No."

Olivia shifted in her chair. "This isn't going to work if you don't participate."

Cuddy's words flashed through his head. He had promised to at least try. "She's my boss. We're not in a relationship, not a real relationship."

"Then what is your fake relationship like?" Olivia was intrigued.

"I guess we're friends." He'd never given it much thought. She'd just always been there for him, but he'd never actively said she was his friend. When he introduced her to people, she was his boss, when he spoke of his friends, he spoke of Wilson. She'd implied once that Wilson was his only friend, so even she didn't think of them that way. "With benefits." The benefits part was new.

"Friends." Olivia was thinking about this. "Do you have many friends Greg?" She would have put good money on the answer being no.

"I have Wilson."

"Who is Wilson?"

"He's my friend." House rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, letting her know she was being an idiot.

"Is that his only role in life? Is he your imaginary friend?" It wouldn't be the first time.

"He's an oncologist I met at a convention. We've worked together for the past ten years. He's the only person who is willing to put up with me."

"What about your boss? The friend with benefits? Surely she puts up with you."

"Barely." House thought about it and realized he was doing Cuddy a disservice. "She puts up with far more than she should have to."

"Do you think you take advantage of your friendship?"

"Yes." He felt a tinge of guilt. Nothing like the guilt he often saw in Cuddy and even Wilson, but a tinge, and he didn't like it one bit. Then he opened up. "She is the one who approved the operation on my leg that left me crippled." Olivia was stunned by the news. "Actually my girlfriend approved it, while I was in a coma, against my will, but Cuddy is the one who came up with the idea to try and salvage what she could of my leg even though I had asked her not to."

"You didn't want your leg salvaged?" She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, but she didn't want to disrupt his flow of thought with a lot of technical questions.

"I didn't think it needed to be." But over the years, the more he tried not to think about it, the more he realized Cuddy did the only possible thing she could do, the thing he would have done in the same situation. She saved her patient's life. "She saved my life." His words were small and he half hoped she didn't hear them.

"Your boss, the friends with benefits booty call, she saved your life?" This had to be one of the more complex relationships Olivia had ever heard of, barring anything involving children or incest.

House looked at the ground. He had known the truth for a long time now, he just didn't want to face it. "Yes."

"Is that why you can't take your relationship to the next level?" She was curious, why were they just friends with benefits, why not more?

"She deserves better than this." He made a gesture toward himself.

"Better than what?" Olivia sounded a little sad about that.

"I'm a crippled!" Why was it that no one seemed to understand that?

"So?"

"So…she has a baby to take care of."

"So?"

House realized quickly how this discussion was going to go so he stopped talking.

Olivia waited for a response. When it was clear one wasn't coming she spoke. "So, you're just going to say nothing now?"

House nodded.

"It's your money." She turned to her computer and started reading e-mails.

House watched her. "That's it? You're just going to let me go?"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere Greg. You have to stay here for an hour. If you're not going to use that hour to work on some of your problems then you are going to spend it watching me go through my e-mails. I get a lot of spam."

"Lucky you." House was going to wait her out. There were only another 43 minutes to his session. He picked up a paperweight shaped like a glass brain. Olivia watched him out of the corner of her eye. He opened his hand and let it drop to the floor and shatter. "Oooops." He looked at her challengingly.

Olivia looked up from her computer. "I'll add that to your bill." She went back to work.

House looked around for something else to break. He saw her mug and reached out for it. Olivia picked it up and took a sip then put it back just out of his reach. Then she started typing.

House was getting agitated. He was being ignored and he didn't like it. She was supposed to badger him until he had no choice but to open up and tell her everything. He wasn't supposed to beg her to listen. He picked up his cane and brought it down hard on her desk. He saw her jump a little when it made impact.

With all of his strength, and with her watching him curiously, he swept everything he could off her desk. Papers, the mug, a few pens, a stapler, her phone all went crashing to the floor.

"Did that make you feel better?" Olivia bent over and put the phone's receiver back on the hook, but she didn't put the phone back on the desk.

"A little." House lied. If anything he felt worse.

She turned her chair to face him and folded her hands on the desk. "You have my attention."

She was forcing him to do all the work. "I'm not going to break down and tell you my mommy breast fed me until I was in high school or that my father beat me or I had a strange uncle who used to pull his pants down and make me touch his snake."

Olivia suppressed a laugh. "Did you have a strange uncle who made you play with his snake?"

"No!" House snapped.

"Look, Greg, you don't have to reveal your deep, dark secrets to me. We can talk about anything you want to talk about." She often found what people chose to talk about far more revealing than any revelation they made under prompting.

"Do you wear a thong or granny panties?"

She smiled. "That's something you'll never find out."

"You wear a thong."

"Does your boss wear a thong? You know, the one you're sleeping with?"

"I wouldn't be sleeping with her if she didn't."

"So you're a romantic."

House was a romantic. He just wouldn't let anyone know he was. "I have my moments." Except, apparently, Olivia Lucero.

"What is the last romantic thing you did?" She leaned forward, very interested.

House leaned in toward her. "I gave her something special. Something that meant a lot to us…once."

"What was it?"She had a feeling it would be something dirty, based on the way their conversation had gone thus far.

"A desk."

"Your big romantic gift was a desk?" She wasn't impressed.

"It wasn't a desk, it was THE desk. It was her desk from med school. It was a desk we…it was a desk I have fond memories of."

"So it was about sex?"

"It wasn't about sex! It was about showing her that I remember; showing her that our past means something to me."

"And did she understand what it meant?"

"About as well as you did." House leaned back in his chair, pulling away from the intrusive therapist. Cuddy had never even thanked him. He had called her mother, and arranged to have the desk brought to Princeton, and she never even thanked him.

"Did you explain it to her?"

"I never got a chance." House went quiet, retreating back into this shell.

"You should explain it to her, next time you see her. Tell her what you just told me."

"I should do a lot of things."

"You're not going to tell her, are you? You're just going to let her think whatever."

"Yep."

"Well, I'm starting to get a good idea of why you're alone."

"Oh good, I'm glad we got that settled."

"What's the worst thing you ever did to her?"

"What?" House wasn't expecting that question, ever.

"What is the worst thing you have ever done to this boss you sleep with who is sort of your friend but didn't understand your romantic gesture?"

House didn't know where to start. Should he go with one of the millions of horrible things he'd said to her, or the many times he'd nearly cost her her job, or the times he had broke her heart? "Just after my infarction, I sued her for malpractice." Olivia just started. "I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to suffer like I was suffering." Why was he even telling her this? "I wanted to take away the one thing that meant the world to her."

"Her job meant the world to her?"

"It was all she cared about back then. She wouldn't let anything stand in her way, not even me."

"Were you in her way?"

"I was…a very long time ago." House wasn't talking about the infarction now. He had gone much further back in their history, to the beginning, when she chose medicine over him. "She made it clear then where her priorities lie."

"Don't you think they could have changed?"

"Oh, they have changed. She's a mother now." She had skipped right over him from career to children.

"You don't approve?"

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

House stumbled over his thoughts. He couldn't even get the words out of his mouth. "Oh, come on, you know why."

"You're afraid the child has taken your place in her life." It was a very old story.

"I know she has."

"But you're still able to make booty calls, so the child hasn't taken away everything."

House slammed his fist on the desk. "That's not what I want! I don't want to be squeezed in between diaper changes and breast feedings."

"What do you want?"

"I want to spend the rest of my life with this woman."

"What's stopping you?" Some patients would be able to get through this dialog without her constant pushing but House seemed to keep stopping and carrying on internally, so she kept prompting him to share his thoughts.

"I don't want to be a father."

"Do you think you'd be a bad father? Or are you just not interested?" Some people who said they didn't want to be parents just meant they didn't think they could do the job.

"I don't want to be a father." But the truth was, a small part of him did. There was a small part of him that wanted to prove his father wrong, to prove that he could do something worthwhile with his life. He wanted to show that he would be a better father and not make the mistakes his father had made. He wanted Cuddy to have the family she always dreamed of. The only problem was, he just wasn't ready. He didn't think he'd ever be ready.

"Care to share your thoughts with me?"

"No." House looked at his watch. Time was up. "I'd love to stay and chat but anything I have to do is better than this." He got up to leave.

"I look forward to seeing you again Greg." Olivia bent over and started to put things back on her desk.

"That makes one of us." House waved behind him as he walked out the door.


	16. I Just Want to See the Boy Happy

**I JUST WANT TO SEE THE BOY HAPPY**

House soon adjusted to life at Mayfair. It was a life without responsibility, a life without thought. He was told when to get up, when to eat, when to go to therapy, he didn't have to think about a thing; half the time he didn't even have to get dressed if he didn't want to. He was in a building full of crazies and he fit right in.

For the first few weeks he contented himself with his books, catching up on his reading while trying desperately to avoid Olivia, Fry and his fellow inmates. But it didn't take long for him to devour his entire library and the few interesting books in the nut house library. Once he worked his way through the uninteresting books, he needed to find a new hobby.

Olivia suggested he keep a journal. House laughed in her face. He was not the journal type. Instead he sat around the common room watching soaps and diagnosing his fellow inmates. He kept a not very meticulous log of all of his diagnosis' but very few had presented him with any sort of challenge. The most challenging case, that of a twitchy guy named Steve, had only taken him half a day to solve.

One day he showed the book to Olivia.

"Impressive," she said, looking it over carefully. "And you did this without speaking to any of them?"

"Yep."

"You'd make a great PI." She slid the book back to him.

"Or a diagnostician," House informed her.

She smiled. She had a great smile. Not as great as Cuddy's, but pretty close. He wondered if Olivia and Cuddy would have been friends. They wouldn't now, because House would never let Cuddy be friends with someone he had shared his secrets with, no matter how hot his fantasies about them might be.

"What made you want to become a diagnostician? I believe your original specialty was nephrology?"

"It was boring."

"So you moved to diagnostics?"

"Nope. Infectious disease."

"Was that boring too?" Olivia was starting to get a sense of Gregory House. He was a fascinating man, very impetuous, very easily bored or distracted. Their conversations often shifted gears frequently. At first she'd tried to keep him on track, but she found it more lucrative to let him go off on his tangents and follow along with a leading question now and then.

"Eventually." House was playing hard to get. He always did at the beginning of their sessions, giving the shortest possible answers to her questions until he lulled himself into a level of comfort that made him open up.

"Do you like it?" Olivia didn't mind having to drag information out of him. She knew he'd open up eventually, when she finally asked a question that peaked his interest.

"Do you like your job?"

Olivia though for a moment. "Depends on my patients."

House smiled. "Same here."

"You are quite legendary in your field." She had done some research after their first meeting.

"You're not."

She blanched for a moment then collected herself. "I don't do this for recognition."

"You think I do?" House was curious.

"I think you do what you do because you like figuring things out."

"Perhaps I've underestimated you."

She smiled. "I have a feeling you do that a lot. You don't think very highly of people, do you Greg?"

"And they usually don't disappoint."

"What about your friend, do you think highly of him?" They hadn't really spoken much about Wilson and her curiosity about the only friend House claimed to have was getting to her.

"Wilson is a constant disappointment," House said in all honesty. "No matter what I do, he is still friends with me."

"And that disappoints you?" Olivia was very confused.

"He should have given up on me years ago. I treat him like crap, I use him, I abuse him and he keeps coming back for more. Hell, last year I killed his girlfriend and he was only mad at me for about a month."

"You killed his girlfriend?" Olivia's mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

"It was a bus accident. She followed me onto the bus." His hand tightened around the head of his cane.

"That's not your fault."

"She was on that bus because of me. She died because of me. And I could have saved her, if I had only remembered in time. I knew someone was dying but I couldn't remember. Maybe I didn't want to."

"Why wouldn't you want to?" Olivia felt this was going to be today's big topic so she pressed further.

"I didn't like her. I hated her. She was taking him away from me and a part of me must have wanted her to die. A part of me must have hidden the truth. There is no other explanation."

"Maybe you bumped your head." Olivia thought that was a much more obvious explanation under the circumstances.

"I did, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't forget things."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. The man's conceit really knew no boundaries. "You think you're infallible? You think your God? That you're incredible mind can't succumb to something as mundane as a concussion?"

"My mind is all I have. It is who I am."

"You had temporary amnesia. It happens. It doesn't make you less of a man. It doesn't take away who you are."

"Of all the things I could have forgotten, why did I forget that my best friend's girlfriend was dying?"

"You can't beat yourself up over it. It was a series of coincidences beyond your control."

"I know that. But Wilson should be beating me up about it. He shouldn't have let me off the hook so easily." House had been beating himself up because Wilson wasn't. "I know he hates me, I can see it in his eyes." House griped his cane tighter. His knuckles were turning white from the intensity. "But…it's like he's forgotten all about it."

"Maybe he's dealing with his grief on his own." Olivia was trying to be helpful.

"You don't know Wilson. He doesn't do anything on his own. He does everything with me!" And he was grieving alone, and it was killing House not to be included.

"But not this?"

House looked at the veins in the back of his hand. His hands suddenly looked so old, so worn down. "He's pretending everything is fine but he doesn't trust me anymore. He doesn't confide in me." House felt the words flowing easily now. "He has a brother. He'd been missing for years and just recently turned up. Wilson didn't tell me. He lied about it." At the time House had tried to shrug it off as meaningless, but it had really hurt him deeper than he'd thought. "I don't like being left out of something that important to him." He was worried, afraid that now that Wilson had his brother back, he had no use for House.

"Is that all it is?" Olivia had a hard time believing that this was the first time the two friends had ever had a secret between them.

"What else would it be?" House shot back snottily.

"I don't know your friend Wilson so I couldn't really say."

"Guess." He wanted her to guess. He wanted her opinion. He just didn't want to have to ask for it.

"I think, you and Wilson have been like brothers for years and now that he's found his blood brother you wonder if he will still have a place for you in his life." She was hesitant to analyze him too blatantly, but he had asked.

"And you're going to tell me how utterly ridiculous that is and that I should know that Wilson has room in his heart for both of us and maybe if I get to know his brother we will all live happily ever after together."

"Uh, no." Olivia shook her head. "I was going to say nothing, but if pressed, I would say that your relationship with your friend is probably going to change and you're just going to have to learn to deal with it."

"Hmph. Some therapist you are."

"I'm a very good therapist Greg. You're just a lousy patient."

House nodded. "I'll give you that."

"You need to accept that you can't control everyone. Wilson is going to have a relationship with his brother. He should. It's great that they found one another again. Cuddy is going to raise her daughter. It's something she's always wanted. You should be happy for them."

"And who's going to be happy for me?" House mumbled.

"Are you afraid they're going to leave you behind?" It was starting to make sense now. "Is that why you came here?"

"I came here to get away from their nagging." House lied.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care."

They stared at each other for a long moment, two very stubborn people waiting for the other to give in.

"What do you want out of this Greg?" Olivia caved first. In her professional capacity she had to. "And please, give me a serious answer. You're only wasting both our time with your snark."

"I've got plenty of time to waste."

"I don't."

"Not my problem."

"I charge by the hour, and you're not leaving until I get a real answer." She smiled triumphantly and leaned back in her chair, waiting.

House leaned back too, giving her question serious thought. "I want my life back." He closed his eyes, finding it easier to speak. "I don't want to lose my mind. I want…"

"Yes?" She had to ask.

"I want control of my life." It wasn't what he was going to say, but he couldn't utter the words 'I want to be loved'. Not out loud. Not to her.

"The Vicodin has taken that from you?"

For years House had convinced himself that he was in control of the Vicodin. That was before Amber started showing up post mortem.

"I came here because I was seeing my best friend's dead girlfriend."

"The one who died in the bus accident?"

"Yep."

"What do you mean 'seeing her'?"

"She's been stalking me."

"Her ghost?"

House rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing as ghosts. Are you sure you have a medical degree?"

Olivia ignored him.

"I was hallucinating."

"Are you still?"

"It stopped when I stopped taking the Vicodin."

"That's good."

"Except that, without the Vicodin I am in excruciating pain."

Olivia looked at his face. "You don't look like you're in pain right now."

"I'm good at hiding it."

"Or it's not as bad when you aren't thinking about it." Olivia knew he wasn't going to like her deduction, but she didn't care.

"Oh, are you going to cure me with the power of positive thought now?" House snided.

"Do I look like somebody who believes in that new age positive thought crap?" Olivia was most definitely not a new age therapist. She was a realist.

"You look like a skid row hooker." House's eyes flickered over Olivia's amble bosom.

"Skid row! This blouse cost me three hundred dollars!" She was offended.

"You get paid too much."

"And you are once again trying to avoid the subject."

"And once again I am doing it beautifully." House smiled proudly.

"You are infuriating." Olivia found something oddly charming about this difficult man.

"You like me, don't you?" House leaned in, flirting with the sexy therapist, trying to distract her.

"I do." Olivia was well aware of what he was trying to do, and though she found him charming, she remaining fully immune to his attempts. "But I'm not having sex with you."

In his everyday life she imagined that Dr. Gregory House was probably a striking man, tall, lean, muscular with blue eyes to die for, but here at Mayfair he was hunched and weak, a heavy scruff covering the bottom half of his face, his eyes mostly bloodshot from the detox and his face gaunt from the crappy food he'd been avoiding eating.

"Even if it will helps ease my pain?" House had told her that physical therapy wasn't holding a candle to his own personal brand of 'therapy'. Olivia had laughed at first, but there was science behind it. The brain could only focus on so many sensations at once, and if the sexual urge was great enough, it could very well suppress the pain at least for a while.

"Even if it helps ease your pain." Olivia smiled apologetically at him. She would like to help him ease his pain, but not like that. She had discussed other options with Dr. Fry but he was hesitant to increase House's dosage after House's little slip. They had settled on intense physical therapy, which House blew off three out of four times a week.

House leaned back in his seat and rubbed his leg. "And you're supposed to be a healer."

"I heal minds, not bodies."

"Maybe you should switch specialties."

"Maybe you should start showing up for your physical therapy." She jumped at the chance to change the subject.

"I have been," House informed her.

She shot him a look of disbelief but chose not to engage in that argument again. "You can't expect it to work if you don't participate."

"I don't expect it to work, which is why I don't participate."

She cried out in frustration, looking up at the ceiling and throwing her arms up. "You are impossible."

"So, are we done here?" House started to get up.

"Oh, hell no!" Olivia glared at him, forcing his bottom back into the seat. "I am going to make it my life's work to see to it that you attend physical therapy every day."

"I'm only scheduled for four days a week," House protested.

"Not anymore sweetheart."Olivia smiled as she laid down the new law. "You're arse is mine and it is going to be in physical therapy seven days a week."

"Even god got to rest on the seventh day."

"You are NOT God." Olivia came around her desk and put her hands on the arms of House's chair, leaning toward him. "And you're not nearly as charming as you think you are. And you are not getting out of this."

House watched her, his eyes not leaving hers, which wasn't easy now that her exposed cleavage was hovering just inches below his eye line. "What do you plan to do? Chain yourself to me?" Oh, he hoped that was her plan.

"You wish." Olivia straightened up. "But I hope you're an early riser because I'll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow morning."

House left after staging some minor, ineffectual protests and shuffled down the hall. His thoughts wondered to Wilson. He didn't want to talk about it with Olivia, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking about why he and Wilson were friends. They really didn't have much in common. He was pretty sure Wilson was faking his love of monster trucks. He was pretty sure Wilson did share his love of strippers but, who didn't?

But it was more than just their taste in naked women and destructive entertainment. Wilson was a good guy, a boy scout, at least on the surface. He was a fixer, and House was his fixer upper. That was it. Wilson needed House to be the screwed up mess he was so Wilson could be his Florence Nightingale. And now Wilson had his brother to look after.

When House got back to his room he wondered what Wilson and Cuddy were doing. Did they miss him? Were they thinking about him? Or were they learning that they could live without him? And then he realized how badly he needed to get out of Mayfair before they decided he was expendable.


	17. Back to the Old House

**BACK TO THE OLD HOUSE**

House actually made an effort. Over the next few weeks he attended physical therapy, group therapy, art therapy and most importantly his one on one therapy with Olivia. None of them worked any more than he had expected, except, perhaps, his time with Olivia. She had been quite easy to talk to, easier than if he'd been talking to Fry, who conveniently had stayed out of his way. House actually found himself looking forward to his sessions. Still, he wasn't sad to say goodbye.

Fry asked if there was anyone he could call to pick House up, but House said no and asked for a cab. He waited in the hall, trying to avoid Fry, but with no success.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Better than seeing you off to your new life?" Fry thought about it. "I really can't think of anything."

"Maybe you could find something." House started pacing.

"What are you going to do when you get back home?" Fry asked excitedly.

"Drink." House answered quickly. He was answered with a hearty laugh from Dr. Fry.

"Well I hope you save me some when I come to visit."

House's face fell. "You're not invited."

Fry laughed. "I say visit, I mean check in. Unfortunately for you it's not optional."

"Nothing ever is."

The cab arrived shortly after. House picked up his one bag and didn't say goodbye to the institution he had not called home these past couple months. Instead, as he walked toward the taxi, he pulled his hand behind him and stuck up his middle finger. He could hear Fry's laughter carry down from the front door and he smiled.

His apartment was not quite as he left it. Someone had come in and cleaned up the mess he'd left behind. Not his cleaning lady, who did the minimum amount of work for the small wage he gave her, but someone who cared about him and wanted him to come home to a neat, tidy, organized house. It was either Wilson or Cuddy.

House tossed his bag down and picked up the phone. Pizza was the first order of business. He hadn't enjoyed a Naples Pizza in two months. He scrolled passed Cuddy's number stopping on it for just a moment. Unsure what he would say to her, he kept scrolling down to Naples and ordered his usual.

He checked the fridge then the liquor cabinet; neither had anything worth drinking. He slammed the fridge door and went to the couch to watch television. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of mints. He dumped a few into his hand and popped them into his mouth. It was a sad substitute for the real thing but it was all he had now.

He wasn't sure he could do this. Physical therapy hadn't really eased the pain. It had made it manageable, nothing more. Olivia questioned him about it. She seemed to be under the impression that he didn't really want the pain to go away. She questioned whether he knew how to function without it. At the time House dismissed her. "Why would anyone want to live with this kind of pain?"

Olivia explained how some people came to see their chronic pain as a part of their life and though they may claim to hate it, they become comforted by that hate. It gives them focus.

House scoffed. He didn't want to admit that she was right, but being in Mayfair, away from his puzzles and Wilson and Cuddy and all the little familiarities of life he found comfort in the only thing he had left, his pain. Now, on his way home, he wondered what it would really be like If the pain was gone.

She had tried to talk to him about it, about who he would have been, but he told her that "there is no point in wondering what could have been. If it could have been, it would have been. There's no point in thinking about things that wouldn't happen."

"It might help you to find something you can do." She rationalized.

"There is nothing I can do." She had continued to argue with him, but he wouldn't budge.

Physically, House did not find any worth in himself. No one could convince him otherwise. That was why his mind was so important to him. That is why he freaked out and committed himself to a mental facility when he felt it slipping away, when he started having visions and having trouble remembering things.

The first time he lost his keys he dismissed it as a result of the insomnia. When it happened again he thought he just needed a stronger dosage of Vicodin. When Amber began to taunt him about it he knew he had problems.

It had been the same with the Infarction. He knew something was wrong with him but he ignored it. It was just a little pain. He could ride it out with some pills and be fine in a week. When a week passed and the pain worsened, he started trolling the clinics, not for an answer, but for a quick fix, something to relieve the pain, not an answer to what was causing it.

He didn't want to know. Not then, not now. He was afraid. It was something no one would ever know about him, but he was terrified that something was going to happen to him, something that he couldn't fix, couldn't cure.

The physical pain he could fix. He could bury it under a haze of pills. He could control it. But what if he had something he couldn't control? The irony was, he would end up getting his answer. Putting off the diagnosis hadn't made the infarction go away. It had only made it worse, and more unmanageable. He really had no right to blame Cuddy or Stacy for his condition. He had done this to himself.

He couldn't admit it then, and he could barely admit it now. Back then he blamed Stacy and Cuddy. He took all his self loathing out on them. He crushed Cuddy's spirit for a while and drove Stacy away completely. He made both of their lives as unbearable as his had become. The worst of it was he knew he was taking it out on the wrong people. He had driven them away not to hurt them, but to punish himself for screwing up his life.

When Stacy left, he felt justified. He deserved to have her leave him. He deserved to be alone. Only he wasn't alone, not completely. Cuddy stuck around, no matter what he did to her, she always made excuses for him and she always forgave him. So did Wilson. And so, over the years he pushed and he pushed, trying to drive them away, trying to prove to them what he already knew. He wasn't worthy of their love and attention.

House would have killed for some pills right now. He poured a few mints out into his hand and closed his hand around them. He was willing himself to believe they were Vicodin pills before he popped them into his mouth. Unfortunately he was too smart to fall for that sort of psychological trickery and as the tiny mints fell against his tongue he knew them for exactly what they were. Still he swallowed a few, the way he always swallowed his pills, and felt them slip down his throat, relieving nothing, but at least giving him something to do.

A few hours later he fell asleep in front of the television. The bottle of mints clutched in fist fell to the floor as he sunk deeper into the best sleep he'd had in two months.


	18. Work is a Four Letter Word

**WORK IS A FOUR LETTER WORD**

Cuddy said goodbye to Mrs. And Mr. Slater and showed them to the door. She turned quickly, pulling the door shut behind her, only it wouldn't shut. Something had gotten in it's way, forcing the door back open. She turned and looked into the bright blue eyes she had feared she would never see again.

"House!" Before she could stop herself she went running into his arms. He didn't stop her either. As he felt her arms wrap tightly around his neck he realized it was all worth it.

"You missed me then?" He asked, pulling his arm around her and leading her backwards into the office, shutting the door behind them.

She pulled away, but just a little. "Of course I missed you."She hit him gently. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." there was a bit of a question in his words, a bi of 'if you'll have me back' in his statement. He wasn't sure, when he left for rehab, if he would be a doctor when he got out.

The medical board was not particularly lenient with drug addicts. Especially ones they haven't been particularly fond of for years. Like the hospitals own board of directors, the Princeton Medical Review Board did not like Dr. Gregory House.

"I didn't expect you back..." She trailed off, remembering the last time he had shown up from out of the blue. "Did you... are you..." She wasn't sure how to ask.

"I finished the program." He knew what she was asking. He knew she was concerned. He didn't like it. He wanted her to trust him. He hated to see the disappointment she sometimes had in her eyes.

"Really?" Her face lit up . "That's wonderful." She hugged him again, thinking he would hate the sign of affection but willing to do it anyhow.

"Thanks," House said meekly. "Now, can I come back to work or what?" He needed work. He needed something to take his mind off the pain and the lack of Vicodin.

"House, you just got out of the hospital. Take a few days off. Get some rest."

"I got plenty of rest. And it wasn't a hospital. I didn't have surgery or an illness."

"You did have an illness House. Go home, play your piano, watch TV. Just, take a few days to relax."

"This is how I relax. I work, I solve puzzles. Let me do my job." he was begging. That is how badly he needed a case, a distraction.

Cuddy hemmed and hawed, as she always did. It was how House knew she was about to give in.

"Your team..."

"Are lost without me." House moved closer to her desk, hoping to find something interesting. "Just give me a case. I don't care what kind of case. Give me something."

Cuddy hesitated. "I don't have anything for you right now. " She hadn't had to look for cases for House for two months. It had been a nice vacation.

"I'll work in the clinic." it was a desperate move and he knew it. He was trying to force her hand.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. It was an offer she was finding very hard to refuse but was very hesitant to accept without knowing what the catch was.

"Unless I'm not welcome here." House was playing on her sympathy.

"Of course you're welcome here, you're the best doctor..."

"Dont." House stopped her in her tracks.

Cuddy put her hand on his arm carefully, afraid she was pushing him out of his comfort zone. "House, I told the board you had gone on an extended leave because of a death in your family. They don't know about the rehab."

"Hospitals are very small places. News travels fast."

"Not this. Wilson and I are the only ones who know."

"And you really think he won't tell?"

"He's your best friend House. He's not going to tell anyone your personal business."

"Have you met James Wilson, the Princeton town crier?"

"He's not that bad."

House, who had been riddling through Cuddy's desk picked up a folder. "I'll take this case."

Cuddy took it from him and opened the folder, taking a moment to look over the file. "This is an open and shut case. He's got an inoperable tumor and three weeks to live."

"That gives me three weeks to figure out if it's something else."

"It's not something else. Wilson has run..."

"Wilson is almost as bad a doctor as you are."

Cuddy tried to glare but it was tinged with a smile. "It's nice to see rehab hasn't changed you."

House grinned. "Nothing can change me." He took the folder from her and headed out of the office. He didn't look back to see Cuddy grinning at him. "It's great to have you back," she said fairly quietly, not sure she wanted him to hear her.

House wandered down the corridor, letting its familiarity wash over him, feeling the memories for pranks with Wilson and fights with patients take him down the familiar course to his office.

Wilson's door was shut. House passed it slowly. He looked down at the folder. The patient had been Wilson's. The diagnosis had been death. Wilson would have already had the talk, possibly held the man's hand, maybe put a consoling hand on his shoulder. It was what Wilson did. It was what he thrived on. House would take some kind of perverse pleasure in being able to make it all meaningless.

The team, House's team, were sitting around the table playing some kind of card game. House snuck by and into his office. The blinds had been closed since he left, out of some sort of respect, or as a memoriam.

He pulled his chair over to the door his office shared with theirs and put a shot glass he kept in his top drawer to the door. He wasn't ready to give up the advantage of being a ghost.

Foreman clearly had a pretty good hand. He was trying way too hard to convince the other two that he didn't. 13 wasn't buying it and was trying to force his hand. She was raising her bet to five Oreos. House was pretty sure she was bluffing, even though she had the best poker face he had ever seen, he knew she always pushed harder when she was unsure of herself. Taub appeared to have already folded. It was between the lovers, Foreman and 13.

House was pulling for 13. Failure was good for the over confident Foreman. He watched as Foreman called her bluff. He sighed and got up out of his chair. He pushed his way through the door with a flourish.

"I can't believe you folded!" He bellowed at Hadley. He walked over and took a cookie from the pot and shoved it into his mouth.

The trio of doctors stared at him in disbelief. "You're back," Taub announced.

"Really?" House replied. "How did I get here?"

"We thought you were on leave," Hadley added.

"And now I'm not." House tossed the file on the table and took another cookie. "So, what does this guy have?" He waited for them to review the file.

"He has cancer," Hadley stated the obvious.

House rolled his entire head exaggeratedly. "Besides that!"

"Sometimes cancer is just cancer." Foreman was irritated. House could hear it in his voice.

"And sometimes it's not." And House was determined that this time it wouldn't be.

As his team began to start on the questions about where he had been, House headed toward Wilson's office, ignoring them completely.

He had heard Wilson's door open and close and knew whoever he'd been talking to, whoever he'd been telling the bad news to had left.

House walked in unannounced. He knew Wilson would be sad, he always was after a bad consultation. That's why the door got reshut. After giving good news, Wilson kept his door open. He usually kept the door open, unless he was telling someone they were going to die.

"I'm back", House said in his best Jack Nicolson.

Wilson looked up, startled. He had been crying. "What? When?" It slowly registered in his head. "Why didn't you tell me your were getting out?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise." House lied. He just didn't want to deal with all Wilsons questions and fussing before he got a good night's sleep.

"Well, it's good to see you back."

"And it's interesting to see you crying. So who died?" House asked as callously as he could. It was an intentional move meant to put his opponent on the defensive. It worked.

"You're an ass." Wilson blew his nose.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I just had to tell a single father and his children that a year after their mother died they are going to lose their father too."

House was unmoved. "Is this the file you gave to Cuddy this morning?"

"Yeah. Why?" Wilson cocked his head to one side.

House shook his. "No reason." House left, whistling to himself as Wilson called after him.


	19. There is a Light That Never Goes Out

**THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT**

House struggled with the case he had all but stolen. Everything pointed to it being nothing more than another terminal case of cancer, something Wilson would have attested to if House had asked him. But House didn't ask, nor did he admit he had taken the case. Cuddy was the only one who knew and unlike Wilson House knew she could keep a secret.

He also knew that, like Wilson, if House showed up at her door at three in the morning, she would let him in.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" She was glancing at the clock. She'd already looked at her digital alarm clock, the watch she left beside it and the hall clock as she snuck passed Rachel's room and toward the front door. Now she was checking the living room clock. They all agreed that it was three minutes passed three in the morning. Not a time of morning she liked to see, considering her alarm was set to go off in just under two hours.

House looked at his watch. "Three o'eight."

Cuddy took a deep breath and let him in. "Your watch is five minutes fast." She shut the door behind him.

"That's because I like to be early."

"You're never early."

"It's early now." He grinned, plopping down onto her soft couch.

"What do you want?" She rolled her eyes and dropped down onto the couch beside him. Clearly he intended to stay and standing wasn't going to get him going any sooner.

"I need help, on the Abrams case." His head hung with exhaustion and this was the first time she noticed how hunched and frail he looked.

"You're asking me for help, on a case?" She was stunned. He thought she was a horrible doctor. The idea that he wanted her help frightened her more than anything else.

He handed her the files he was holding. They were damp with his sweat and showed signs of being twisted and crumpled. "You're the only one I trust." He was looking down at the coffee table. It was an antique, probably inherited from some long dead relative. It didn't match the rest of the décor well enough to have been purchased for the room.

"Trust to do what?" She started flipping through the files carefully.

"To stop me from chasing windmills."

Cuddy looked at him.

"Don Quixote?" He rolled his eyes.

"House, it's too early in the morning to be making literary references." She was barely awake, forget being ready to dissect his ramblings.

"Abrams has cancer."

"Yes, I told you, he's already been diagnosed."

"I just know there is sometime else." House pressed his palms against his temples, trying to squeeze the information out of his head. "Or am I still crazy?" He looked at her with wild, bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept in three days, since taking the case. It was Amber all over again.

He knew the answer was locked somewhere in his mind but he couldn't access it. Just like Amber. He had known it was her, dying after that bus accident, but he just couldn't find it locked away somewhere in his brain for whatever reason.

He felt Cuddy's arm wrap lightly around his shoulders. "House, you're not going crazy."

"How do you know?" He wanted a real answer. How does one know if they are going crazy or not?

"Because you're House. If you think there is something more to this case, then there is something more to this case."

House pushed her away. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"You're coddling me. If I hadn't just come out of rehab you would be telling me to drop it, that there is no case here, that I'm just bored and selfishly ruining some man's dying days by imagining symptoms that simply don't exist. Instead you're letting me ruin this guy's last days with his kids. Why? Because of some sick need to make me happy? Are you that desperate?"

Hate flashed across Cuddy's face for a moment. "I have worked with you for years. I know you and I know that you don't make things up. You bend the truth to suit your needs, and you lie and manipulate to get what you want, but you do not make up symptoms that aren't there. You need a puzzle to solve and that need will not be satisfied by a false illness. That's not the way you work House. If you think there is something there, then I think it is worth exploring.

"It has nothing to do with my feelings for you, or your recovery. It has to do with giving the patient every possible chance no matter how impossible that chance might seem. That is why I hired you House. I hired you because you don't give up. When things seem impossible or not worth the effort you don't just quit. You come up with a new idea. You take risks and those risks have saved lives."

"They've also taken them."

"No!" She put up her finger and shook it at him. "No you don't. There hasn't been one patient who would have been better off without you. You might not have been able to save them all, but you're not god House. You can't be expected to save them all.

"Face it House. People don't come to you until they are desperate, until there is no other option but death."

"But this guy didn't come to me." House grabbed the folder and waved it at her. "I stole him. I stole Wilson's patient."

Cuddy sighed heavily and put her hand on House's, lowering the file to his lap and looking him directly in the eye. "You took this file because you saw something there, something no one else saw."

"Because I'm going crazy."

"Because you have a way of seeing things that other people don't notice. You are one of the most observant people I have ever met. Nothing gets passed you. You know when I ovulate, you know which doctors are sleeping with which nurses, not because you care, but because you notice lipstick on a collar or messy hair or strange noises coming out of the supply closet. Things the rest of us take for granted or simply don't bother to notice.

"It's your gift House. Not just your intelligence, but your ability to see things around you that no one else can see. And when you looked at this file, you saw something, and perhaps your mind hasn't caught up and doesn't yet know what it was you saw, but I have faith in you House. You will figure it out. Maybe not in time to save the patient, but at least you will have tried."

"You don't believe that." House grumbled. "You believe in results, not good intentions."

Cuddy laughed. "Your intentions are never good House. Your intentions are selfish, self serving curiosity and an attempt to thwart boredom." She looked at him closely and furrowed her brow. "Do you suddenly care about saving patients?"

"No." House snatched up the file and struggled to his feet. The pain was torturous.

"Did the doctor at Mayfair give you anything for the pain?"

"Only his good intentions." House scoffed.

Cuddy took the file back from him and read it carefully, making suggestions as she went. House threw back every suggestion with some sarcastic comment on her abilities, but she brushed them off. If he needed her, she was going to be there for him.

Nearly two hours passed when he looked toward her bedroom. A strange buzzing sound was crying out through the open door.

"Oh, it's five." Cuddy hurried down the hall and switched off the alarm. It was 5:15. Somehow they had managed to not hear the alarm for the first fifteen minutes it was ringing.

"You get up this early?" House made a face.

"I have things to do before I show up for work, like shower and change my clothes." She was looking pointedly at his disheveled hair and the wrinkled shirt he had worn to work for two days now.

"And it takes you two hours?" House wouldn't be surprised, she did look amazing when she got to work, but looking at her now, with very little sleep and his annoying self bothering her all night she still looked stunning.

"I do other things." She was gathering the files together, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

"Like what?" House sat back on the couch, hands folded behind his head and watched her.

She stopped and looked at him. "Well, first I have to untie my sex slave." She smiled as his face lit up then darkened.

"Poor fellow must really have to pee."

Cuddy grinned. "I never said it was a man." She shoved his papers at him and pulled him to his feet.

"Oh My God!" House wanted it to be true so badly. He had an image flash through his head of Olivia tied to Cuddy's bed in a rubber corset. His heart pumped quickly as he grabbed the files and held them over his crotch, just in case.

Cuddy bit her lip to stop the smile from glowing too much. She knew exactly what he was thinking, if not who he had cast in the second role. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get ready for work." Rachel started crying in her room.

"What's she doing up at this hour?" House made a face.

"You woke her up." Cuddy shoved him out the door and went to get her daughter.

House stood on her doorstep for a while, looking at the dark green door. He watched the light go on first in Rachel's room, then eventually in Cuddy's. Then a light went on in his head. What had she said? Something about Rachel throwing up? No, burping. She had to burp Rachel because the baby didn't know how to make herself burp yet.

House hurried to his bike and drove off into the sunrise, waking much of the neighborhood. Cuddy heard him leave and cringed as she scooped up the now screaming Rachel and headed for the kitchen, trying to get her morning back on schedule.


	20. Such a Little Thing

**SUCH A LITTLE THING MAKES SUCH A BIG DIFFERENCE**

George Abrams was lying in his hospital bed when the tall, lanky, disheveled man hobbled in with his cane and an expression of anguish on his face. "Have you given up?" He asked without a hello or any form of introduction.

"What?" George mentally scratched his head.

"On life." House sat down next to the patient and dropped his cane on the bed.

"No." George frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm the doctor who is going to try to save your life." House reached his long arm over and picked up Abrams' chart. "If you're interested," he verbally shrugged.

"But, Doctor Wilson says I have inoperable cancer. There isn't a cure." Abrams didn't want to get his hopes up. He had been struggling to come to terms with his impending demise, he had started to get his affairs in order, made arrangements for his brother to come take the kids.

"Doctor Wilson is a drunk." House hadn't thought about what he was saying and said the first thing that popped into his head. He didn't regret it. "Don't listen to him."

Abrams looked horrified.

"But I'm not going to waste my precious time saving your life unless you are prepared to do whatever it takes. No questioning my methods, no fighting any tests I request, no whining about the pain. I'm not in the mood."

"What kind of doctor are you?" Abrams was already mentally preparing the lawsuit for his children. If nothing else it would get them through college.

"I'm the kind of doctor who does whatever it takes to save my patients. It's not always fun and there is a chance it won't work, so you have to decide if it's worth it."

Abrams didn't have to think about it. "I will do anything to stay with my children."

"That's a yes then?" House didn't like the reasoning, but he did like the answer.

"Yes," George Abrams mumbled barely coherently.

"Can't hear you?" House leaned closer.

"Yes!" George snapped, weak and tired and fearful that he'd just made the worst mistake of his life.

House turned without another word and practically skipped out the door.

"You're in a good mood?" Foreman looked up from his crossword.

"We've got a case." House threw the folder at him.

"We're already on this case." After House had left them, Foreman directed the team to the other files House had dropped on them.

"Not really. I stole that file off Cuddy's desk." He saw Foreman's fury building. "But it's official now." He hoped that would help. It did, but only barely.

"How is your leg?" Hadley was watching House. He seemed to be in more pain than usual.

"Connected to my hip. They both are. Always have been." House was avoiding the question as he rubbed his leg absentmindedly.

"I meant the pain." Hadley wasn't giving up that easily. "Why aren't you taking your pills."

House shot daggers at her. "You're fired." He pulled out his fake pill bottle and poured several fake pills, also known as Tic Tacs into his mouth. He looked at Hadley, his bright blue eyes flaming. "Why are you still here?"

Hadley smiled. "You're not really firing me."

"Uh, yes, I am." House nodded exaggeratedly.

Taub and Foreman both looked nervously at Hadley then House. Hadley stood her ground. "This is another one of your little tests. Let's just pretend I left and you asked me back and we can all focus on the patient now."

House turned and picked up the phone. He hit a few numbers and waited. "Yes, security, I need you to escort 13…um, Doctor 13 out of the building. Thank you." He had to explain to them where he was and who Doctor 13 was, but by the time he had finished, she was gone. "Now that that is done…"

"Why did you fire her?" Taub couldn't help himself. He knew he shouldn't ask, but he had to know. He couldn't figure out what she did wrong.

"Didn't like her new haircut." Taub looked at Foreman. Foreman looked at Taub. Neither had noticed the one inch trim Remi Hadley had gotten two days ago. Foreman nodded to himself. So that's why she was giving him the cold shoulder. He made a mental note to complement her on her hair tonight.

"But you're going to ask her back, right?" Taub was getting worried. House looked serious. "We can't handle this case on our own."

"I'll hire someone new. A trisexual perhaps."

"What's a trisexual?" Taub was getting frustrated.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" House sat down across from Taub.

"I would." Taub would. It sounded interesting. More interesting than a clear cut case of cancer.

"Find something wrong with this guy that's fixable, and I'll tell you."

"It's not as easy as that." Taub had had enough. "We can't just give him a curable disease because you find it more satisfying."

"I don't want you to give him anything. I want you to find what he already has." House grabbed the folder. "But forget it. Go play tiddlywinks with the interns. I'll solve this case myself." He stormed back to his office and slammed the door. Unfortunately it was one of those safety doors that closed slowly no matter how much force you gave it, and the result was more comical than threatening. He could hear Foreman chuckle as the door slowly eased closed.

House paced his office like a caged animal. He wasn't coming out until he had something, anything.

Why was he so sure he could help this Abrams guy? Why did he care?

He cared, not because Abrams was a nice guy with three kids who had been widowed by breast cancer only last year. He didn't care because those three kids would be orphans in a few weeks. He didn't care because his heart had grown two sizes during his therapy sessions or detox. He cared because he needed to prove, to himself, to Cuddy, to the world that he could still do this. He needed to prove to Cuddy that he was still an asset to this hospital, to her. He needed to prove to himself that he hadn't lost his mind, and he had to prove to the world that he was still Gregory House.

The idea that he was giving George Abrams and his family false hope never crossed his mind. It was no more important to him now than it was before detox. Abrams was just a puzzle to him, made the more puzzling because House was trying to solve it blind. He knew something was wrong but not what. He didn't even know what it was about these files that set him off.

He spent the next few hours then the next few days pouring over the files. X-Ray's, MRI's, blood work, it had all been done, and House ordered it all done again. Cuddy complained about wasting hospital resources, but as soon as she saw the haunted look in his eyes she let him carry on. He was manipulating her. They both knew it, and they both let it happen. It was what they did.

He noticed that she passed by his office more than she needed to. She never came in, or even stopped, but he would look up now and then and see her pass by, glancing in as casually as she could. She was worried about him. He felt a tinge of guilt about that. She worried too much. But that was her problem, not his.

His problem was that every test on Mr. Abrams pointed to cancer. But it wasn't cancer. House knew it.

It had been three days since House had seen his apartment, or a shower. Wilson walked into his office and made a face. "You stink!"

"And you drool when you sleep."

"Do not!"

"You're asleep when it happens. How would you know?" House hadn't even looked up from the third MRI results. There was something there that he couldn't find. What was it?

He jumped out of his chair and brought the image to Wilson, holding it up to the light for better contrast. "What do you see?"

"A brain." Wilson narrowed his eyes. "Wait! Is this George Abram's brain?"

"You recognize his brain?" House was admittedly impressed. He didn't have much faith that Wilson could recognize the image as a brain at all.

"This," Wilson pointed to a dark spot just inside the Wernicke's Area. "Is distinct to Mr. Abram's brain. What are you doing with his scans?"

"They are my scans. I took them." House looked more closely at the dark spot Wilson had pointed out. "And you didn't think this might be medically relevant?"

Wilson's face twisted. "House, he's got maybe three weeks left. I didn't see the point in his spending those three short weeks in the hospital getting tested for something that doesn't matter when he could be with his children."

"Doesn't matter?" House was outraged. "Everything matters. The human body is a complex system of things that matter."

"He's got cancer House. Inoperable tumors through most of his body. He is a dead man walking."

"Well, technically he's a dead man lying on his back." House corrected.

"What?" It clicked. "You didn't!" It turned to rage. "House, how can you force this poor man to spend what amounts to the rest of his life being your lab rat?"

"Because I think this," House pointed sharply at the dark spot in the man's brain, "could change everything." He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, for a moment, before another huge weight was dropped down in its place. "Now I just have to figure out what it is." He ignored the attack that fell so easily off Wilson's lips. He'd heard it all before and didn't need a refresher. Medical ethics, duty as healers, no concern for anyone but himself, blah, blah; he really wished Wilson would get a new tune.

House turned on some music and cranked it up louder and louder until Wilson gave up and left in a huff. House heard his parting words which had something to do with going to Cuddy to complain. House smiled at Wilson's retreating back. Cuddy wasn't going to stop him. Not once he told her he was about to discover a whole new disease.

They would name it after him. House's Disease, and it would make Princeton Plainsboro famous. Cuddy would be so grateful she would do anything he asked. It was going to be awesome! House quickly went back to work, determined to discover his new disease.


	21. At Last I Am Born

**AT LAST I AM BORN**

House tilted his head down and rubbed the top of his nose, between his eyes. His head was pounding and the print on the report he was looking at seemed to be shrinking with each line. He turned and looked at his clock. It was a few minutes to nine. The sun had gone down ages ago and the small desk lamp wasn't providing enough light. He was just about to get up and switch on the overhead when the office lit up.

"You're going to go blind," Cuddy told him, sauntering in as she did.

"If only I could go deaf and never have to listen to you again."

She smiled. He was glad. "Listening to me is what makes you save lives."

House smiled back. He pushed his work aside, glad for a temporary reprieve. "If that's what you need to believe."

She was standing in front of him now, so close he could have reached out and pulled her to him. "Wilson came to see me." Any illusions he had of seducing her just got blown to pieces.

"And you came to reprimand me." House watched her expression. "Should I bend over?"

"Maybe later." There was that familiar glint in her eye. House practically swooned when he saw it. It had seemed so long ago that it was last there. Lately she'd been walking on egg shells around him, afraid to make even the slightest hint at innuendo lest he take it too seriously, at least that's why he supposed she'd stopped.

"Is that a promise?"

"It's a threat." She looked away. The flame was obviously getting too hot for her. "How are you coming along with Mr. Abrams?" She had heard Wilson's plea, but she was on House's side this time. She was always on House's side. Wilson knew it, but felt obligated to state his case, just for the record. He hadn't actually expected anything to come of it.

"I am going to make this hospital famous," House replied excitedly. He had wanted to keep his possible discovery a secret from her. He wanted to surprise her, but he was too excited. He had found a direct link between the dark spot in Abrams head, which turned out to not actually be a tumor as such, and the cancer that was spreading through the man's body. It was a very thin thread of a link, but it was a link.

Cuddy listened intently as he explained. She loved seeing him like this, enthusiastic, excited about something. Nothing was more attractive to her than a man at the top of his game, loving what he was doing. She felt herself gravitating toward him, first leaning closer under the guise of wanting a closer look at the files, then slowly pressing closer to him.

They were working, which gave her the cover she needed to feel safe as his arm brushed against hers and her heart skipped a beat. There hadn't been many nights, since they fell back into bed together a few months ago, that she hadn't thought of him in some small way. There had been more than a few nights where she had woken up sweaty and out of breath the memory of him was so strong in her mind.

She couldn't tell him that. The look of smug satisfaction on his face would have been unbearable. Instead she would silently wonder if he had thought about her and if he ever wondered about what could have been.

"Are you even listening?" He had asked her a question and she had answered yes quickly. The problem was, it wasn't a question she would normally have answered yes to.

"What?" She looked up to see it was nearly eleven.

"I asked if you wanted to go to get a bite to eat. You said yes." He smiled. "Let's go."

"No." She looked panicked. She hadn't meant to say yes. She should have been paying attention instead of imagining what it would be like to take him right there on his desk. "I should get home, to Rachel."

"Rachel is sleeping. She won't know you're not there."

Cuddy wasn't sure if he meant that to be comforting, but it wasn't, especially since he was right. Rachel wouldn't know that her mother hadn't come home yet, nor would she think anything of it, since there were many nights when Mommy didn't come home before bedtime.

"I really should…"

"…come with me." House took her by the hand and dragged her toward the door. He was starving and he didn't want to eat alone. He always thought better when he had someone around to bounce ideas off of, someone who's own bad ideas made him come up with better ones. Cuddy was perfect for this. She was a thinker. She wasn't always right, but at least she wasn't afraid to be wrong.

Far too often his team backed down from their bad ideas because they needed to be right. He knew it was his fault for raising them that way, but that didn't dismiss how annoying it was at times. It was fine for the day to day differential, but this was a special case. This was a case he didn't want to share with his inexperienced team. This was a case he only wanted to share with her.

He looked over at her. They were in the car now, on their way to Denny's and she was on the phone. From the gist of the conversation House could tell she was informing her nanny she wouldn't be home for a few more hours. "I hope you pay her well."

"I pay her very well," Cuddy replied, not wanting to talk about her domestic situation, not with him.

House pretended to frown. "You don't pay me well."

"You're lucky I pay you at all."

"You'd rather I was your slave?" House could get into that.

"Don't give me ideas." Cuddy pointed to an all night diner and House swerved the car into the parking lot quickly.

"You're supposed to be giving me ideas." House grabbed his bag as they headed for the diner. His mind was racing with ideas. Why didn't Abrams have any speech problems?

"The non-tumor," which is what they had decided to call it until they could figure out what it really was, "seems to be in the lower part of the Wernicke's Area. Perhaps it is too low to impact speech." Cuddy was fiddling with her fork as she spoke. It was stopping her from reaching out and touching him.

"It is low." House took another look. "It's almost sitting on the cerebral artery. That's gotta be causing some damage."

"Enough to cause cancerous tumors to infect over 45% of his body?"

"Maybe." House didn't sound very sure.

"You don't expect me to sign off on any crazy tests based on a maybe do you?" She pulled together another forkful of salad.

"No, but you don't expect me to ask before I do my crazy tests do you?" He thought she was smarter than that.

She bit her lips in that way she did when he'd caught her in a truth she wanted to admit but didn't think she should. "No. Just don't kill him."

"He's already dying. It's not like I can do that much harm."

"House…" she was using her warning tone.

"With that attitude I don't think I'm going to be comfortable naming this disease the Cuddy-House Disease. You were this close," he held his fingers tightly pressed together, "to being famous."

A slow, teasing smile spread over her face. "You would have put my name first?"

"No!" House looked at her, suddenly aware of what he'd said. "I was just thinking alphabetically."

"You put someone else before yourself. That rehab center has changed you." It was a nice change.

"It has not! I was just stroking your ego…so you would stroke my…"

She blushed and looked away. "Do you really think you've discovered a new disease?" She was worried he was getting his hopes up too high and was headed for a severe crash, which she would have to pick up the pieces of.

"Don't you?" He looked crestfallen.

"I just…"

"Don't want me to get hurt."

"Don't want your head getting any bigger than it already is." She joked, trying to back away from the truth.

"Oh, it's getting bigger." He shoved a piece of sausage into his mouth.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"What are you going to do for me if I do discover a new disease and make your little hospital famous?"

"I'll give you a raise."

"I was hoping for something more…personal." He smiled that smile he knew made her go all gooey inside.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there." She wasn't ready to commit to such a thing, but she didn't really want to dismiss it either. It was nice having that door open.

"What would you do if I turn back to drugs?"

"What?" Things had been going so nicely that his question took her by surprise. She didn't like feeling this disoriented. "You're not…"

"No." He saw the panic in her face and was sorry he had brought it up. "But if I did, would you fire me this time?"

She blinked at him a few times before the words got processed in her mind. "You're worried about your job?" She sounded hurt.

"I'm worried about a lot of things, but it's easier to talk about my job." He wasn't talking about his job. He was talking about her. He wasn't asking if she'd fire him. He was asking if she'd stop loving him.

"I won't fire you House. You know that." And they both knew what she meant. "I'll never find a doctor who could replace you."

House smiled weakly. He knew she wasn't talking about the hospital. Finally he knew it. Finally he could see clearly enough to see the truth in her eyes. The haze of pain killers no longer blinded him to the fact that she couldn't live without him, not just professionally but personally. "That's something you won't have to worry about, because Dr. Fry explained to me that there are many ways to relieve the pain. He said that, if I explore these alternatives, find one that works for me, then I won't feel the urge to return to Vicodin to alleviate the pain." He reached his hand across the table and placed his fingers beside hers, his index finger slipping over hers in a Houseian handhold.

"Did you? Find one that works?" She knew exactly where this was headed and happily guided it along.

"There is one activity I found that helps, but I can't do it by myself."

Cuddy grinned. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you can, and have, frequently."

"Yeah, but it's not the same." House quickly called for the check and paid. Cuddy found this to be quite a big gesture for the penny pincher, even if it was just Denny's. "Come home with me." He was holding her hand. He'd taken it when he helped her out of the booth and hadn't let go since. Now they were standing in front of her car.

"I have to go home." She didn't want to.

"You have a nanny." He wasn't going to make it easy for her.

"Your car is at the hospital." She was grasping at straws now.

"I can get it tomorrow." He pulled her close. She felt his breath on her face, warm and inviting. "Come home with me," he breathed onto her cool skin. "I need you tonight."

Cuddy leaned forward, her lips parted slightly, her eyes closed. House watched as her lips pressed against his. He leaned against the car, worried he would fall over as his head spun. He had imagined this moment for the past two months. It was what kept him at Mayfair. It's what kept him sober.

And now it was happening. She didn't feel sorry for him, she wasn't drunk. She was going home with him because she wanted him, because she loved him. He saw it in her eyes. It had always been there, if he'd been brave enough to look, but he hadn't, until now. And now that he'd looked, and seen the love in her eyes, he never wanted to look away again.


	22. I'd Love To

**I'D LOVE TO**

House threw open the apartment door with the hand that was not wrapped tightly around Cuddy's waist. It also wasn't clawing furiously at Cuddy's top, until the door was once again shut and it was free to join his other hand in the quest.

Cuddy, unhindered by the whole door opening and closing made easy work of the gatekeepers of House's pants; first the button that sat just inches below his navel, on the part of his stomach that swelled just a little with the late dinner they'd had and then the zipper which snagged momentarily on the soft, light cotton of his boxers.

As she struggled to free the boxers from the zipper's clenched teeth, House managed to stop her long enough to pull the tight fitting cotton shirt over her head and tossed it behind them to some unseen part of the floor. She didn't take a moment before setting back to work on his zipper.

"You've gotten it stuck," House protested, his hands joining hers, their fingers fighting for control over the whole operation.

"You're lucky I don't get something else stuck," she replied, trying to ease the zipper upward as he tried to yank it down with force. "Stop doing that! You're only making it more stuck."

"What are you going to do then? Talk it down?" House was an impatient man, especially when he was about to get some, and extra-especially when he was about to get some from the girl of his dreams.

"I doubt your fly is any more reasonable than you are, so no." She slapped his hand away. "Let me do that."

"Is this what being married to you would be like?" House rattled his head and flapped his gums pretending to be her talking. "Boss Boss Boss. Do what I say. Blah Blah."

"You'll never know." She finally managed to dislodge the boxers from his zipper and pulled it down carefully. "Now, take them off. Or is that too bossy for you?"

"No ma'am." House quickly slipped out of his jeans. He pulled his tee shirt up over his head and threw it in a pile of forgotten clothing. He pulled Cuddy against him. She was still in her skirt and he planned on doing something about that.

She felt that little flutter in her chest as he leaned against her, his arms extending down as he unzipped her skirt. She felt his breath trail along her neck to her chest, down over her lace covered breasts as his body sunk lower, in unison with her skirt until he was knelt before her lingerie clad body.

"God you're beautiful," he said as his eyes took in the view.

She blushed and felt herself wobbling slightly on her feet. It had been a long day, she told herself, and these heels were killing her. It had nothing to do with his proximity. Nothing to do with his soft lips, now pressed against the tight skin of her stomach. Those butterflies she felt weren't because his hands had slipped up her thighs and now covered her bottom so completely. And the lightheaded feeling she had was in no way related to the fact that his tongue was sliding across the top of her pants.

House tasted her warm flesh as if for the first time, sucking at is hungrily. He wanted the moment to last forever; the anticipation, the state of half undress, the tease before the main event. She was standing in her lingerie and heels looking sexier than he had ever seen her. He was knelt before her, ready to do anything to please her.

Soon she would be lying beneath him, both of them sweaty and naked and panting heavily, and as badly as he wanted to experience that again as if for the first time, he didn't dare rush it and lose the moment they were sharing now.

He wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling himself close to her, resting his head, lips to flesh, against her for just a moment, savoring the smell the taste the feel of her flesh, memorizing this moment for fear it would never happen again. He could feel the blood rushing through her veins, making her skin hot and moist to the touch. He felt her weight pressing against him.

"I can't stand here all night," Cuddy said with deep reluctance. She would love to stand there all night, being serviced by the man she loved, but it was late, and had been a long day, and she wasn't as young as she once was. She would much rather be on her back right now than standing around in stilettos.

House looked behind her for a second, smiled then gave her a shove. Cuddy fell back onto the couch. "Better?" He asked climbing on top of her.

"Much," she smiled, pulling his face to hers for a long, exploratory kiss.

"Good," he breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath as his fingers slipped into her pants.

He watched her face as the pleasure washed over her. He was doing that to her. The feeling of power and virility went straight to his head and made him dizzy with pride. As he maneuvered inside her he relived all the dirty dreams that had gotten him through his stint at Mayfair.

The whole thing took a matter of minutes but if felt like a lifetime. Cuddy's body responded so willingly to his touch and he knew exactly how to touch her. It was strange, when he sat back and thought about it. It wasn't as though they had been together in this way that often. A few times in college, a couple one night stands over the years and a handful of times a few months ago, but her body was so familiar to him. Her needs were his needs. Her satisfaction was his.

"You are good," she panted, struggling to curl up in his arms without falling off the couch.

"I prefer amazing," he teased, pulling a strand of her hair off his sweaty chest.

"You are amazing," she said, appeasing him. He'd earned it, and it was true.

"Awe, you're just saying that." House ran a finger over her sweaty breasts.

"That doesn't mean it's not true."

House fell silent. He had no pithy reply, no snarky comment. He was lost in thought, his finger circling her flesh absentmindedly. He was thinking.

The silence, and the late hour and the vigorous activity they had just participated in had lulled Cuddy into a light sleep, so when House finally spoke she jumped, not just from the surprise of an interruption to the silence but from his unexpected words.

"Move in with me." He had given it some thought and he thought he never wanted to not spend the night in her arms again. The only way to assure he wouldn't was if they lived together.

"What?" She hated being taken by surprise as much as she liked the rush of adrenaline she felt whenever he did it to her.

"Move in with me, or I can move in with you since your house is bigger." He really had given it some thought. He'd lived at 221 B Baker for over ten years now. It was home. It was the longest he had ever lived anywhere.

"What about Rachel?" She couldn't tell if he was serious, kidding, if it was just his sperm talking. She didn't dare anticipate which it was for fear she would start to like the idea just as he pulled it away from her.

"That's why I would move into your house. More room for the little brat." House would never admit it, but he didn't hate Rachel as much as he thought he would.

"She's not a brat." Cuddy felt her maternal defenses going up.

"She's your daughter. Being a brat is in her job description."

Now Cuddy knew he was kidding. She laughed and hit him with a pillow.

"What was that for?" He looked up at her, lifting his head off her breast for only a moment before returning it. His head liked it there.

"You shouldn't make offers you don't intend to keep." Now that she knew it wasn't real she realized how much she wished it had been.

"I didn't." For an observant man House was sometimes extremely clueless. He had no idea that Cuddy hadn't taken his offer seriously.

"You don't seriously think we should move in together." She still wasn't falling for it. She wasn't going to let him get her into another of his traps.

It clicked. House buried his disappointment under a pile of snark. "I just figured it would be cheaper than paying you by the hour."

Something was nagging at the back of Cuddy's mind. Some little something she couldn't quite define. Was it the way he had pulled away from her just for a second when she'd said he wasn't serious? Or maybe the change in the sound of his voice, once full of life now suddenly dull and lifeless. Too late it had dawned on her. He was serious.

It was too late because House as already getting up, telling her to go home to her precious child. Too late because she knew that he would never ask again. She'd just hurt him, however unintentionally, and House was not a man willing to be hurt by the same rejection twice.

"I didn't mean to…" what didn't she mean to do? Laugh at him? She hadn't, not really. Misunderstand him? Does anyone really mean to misunderstand someone? That was a stupid thing to say. So she let her sentence die in the silence between them.

"Neither did I." That wasn't true at all. He did mean to ask her to move in with him, and she was supposed to fall into his arms and say yes. That's what Stacy had done. She hadn't hesitated. Yeah, and look how well that turned out. His inner voice, the one that used to be Amber, didn't let him forget his mistakes lest he be doomed to repeat them. "Forget it."

"I don't want to forget it." Cuddy pouted. She regretted not taking him seriously because deep down she wanted desperately to say yes. "But I think we should take this slowly." It was so sensible House hated it as soon as he heard it. He knew it was what she was going to say. It was so…Cuddy.

"I don't want to take it slowly." House wasn't going to let her hide behind sensibility.

Either did Cuddy. "Then ask me, instead of demanding it."

"I didn't demand…" he caught himself, realizing a debate on semantics was only going to lead them down the wrong path again. He stopped and took a breath. Then in a trembling voice that cracked a bit halfway through, he asked her, "Dr. Cuddy, would you like to live with me?"

She beamed. It was almost blinding. He actually had to look away for a moment, to make sure he wouldn't go blind, or possibly to make sure he didn't shove his tongue down her throat before she had a chance to answer.

"Yes, Dr. House, I would love to move in with you." Who had said that? She looked around, looked for a doppelganger who had said those reckless words, for the imposture who had set her up for what was sure to be a painful fall. They were alone, just her and House. And he had asked the question, so she must have been the one to answer.

"Your place or mine?" He felt light. He felt free. He pushed away all the doubts that started to flood his mind and he enjoyed the moment. For once he let his guard down and simply enjoyed the biggest mistake of his life. Well, as much as a pessimist like himself could enjoy something that could only end in catastrophe.

He shook off those thoughts of doom and gloom. It wasn't hard. She was on him, touching him, groping him, and she would be able to do it to him every night for as long as it lasted. House didn't believe in forever, but he did believe that he was about to enter the happiest time of his life and however long it lasted, he hoped he could get over his misery long enough to enjoy it.


	23. You've Got Everything Now

**YOU'VE GOT EVERYTHING NOW**

Agreeing to move in together was one thing. Actually moving in together was something that required a lot more compromise.

"You are not moving that thing into my house." Cuddy was staring into the contorted face of some ratty old shrunken head House had dug out of an old box he kept in his closet. He didn't have any particular desire to see it hung in a place of honor in any house he lived in, which was why it was in a shoebox in a closet, but he just wanted to see if he could get Cuddy to agree to it.

"But it's my great uncle Bernie." House was holding 'Great Uncle Bernie' by the end of his long hair enjoying the horrified look on Cuddy's face as she stared back at it.

"You don't have a great uncle Bernie. It goes in the trash." She took the offending item with two hesitant fingers and dropped it into the nearly stuffed trash bag with a wrinkled nose and sigh of relief.

"I could." House watched 'Uncle Bernie' fall on top of one of Cuddy's ex-boyfriends old tee shirts and his own broken 8-track of Captain and Tenille's 'Muscrat Love'. It was a loooong story.

"You forget, last time I went to your parents house your mother spent two hours showing me pictures of every leaf on every branch of your family tree."

"Fine, Uncle Bernie goes. But so does your Duran Duran poster. I am not sleeping in any house where Simon La Bon is lurking with his eyeliner, waiting to strike."

"And what, exactly, do you think he's going to do to you?" Cuddy had fond memories of her days as a Duran Duran fan, but those days were long over.

"I don't know and I don't want to know." House stepped aside as the movers came with his piano. He looked around the crowded living room. "I thought you were going to make room."

"I was, but then you moved the moving date up three days and I didn't have a chance."

"You should be happy I'm so eager to move in with you."

Rachel cried from the other room. Cuddy looked pained for a moment before vanishing. "Deal with it," she called to House as she vanished.

House dealt with it by having the movers rearrange the entire living room. His piano would fit nicely near the window once he moved the seating area to the left and removed that hideous table to the spare room and…

Cuddy nearly tripped on the discarded table on her way back to the living room. "Why is my grandmother's table in the hall?"

"It must have gotten lost on its way to the spare room." House looked at his masterpiece. What do you think?" He was proud of his interior design skills, minimal as they were.

"I think my grandmother would roll over in her grave if she knew she was getting pushed to the spare room."

"It's for a good cause." House sat down and tinkered with the keys, playing a nonsensical little tune he was making up on the spot.

"She did like music," and Cuddy did hate that table.

"Then it's settled. Where's the kid?" He checked Cuddy's arms, which were empty.

"She went back to sleep."

"In the middle of all this?" House motioned to the chaos around him.

"She's good like that." Rachel was a sleeper. She loved to sleep.

"I'm good in other ways. Ways that are going to blow your mind." House got up and hobbled over to her.

"I know." Cuddy turned and headed for the kitchen. "Do you want some lunch?"

"I want some you." House followed her.

"There are movers parading in and out of this place." She was shocked he would even suggest such a thing.

"So?" House pressed up against her, trapping her against the counter.

"There will be plenty of time for that later." She slipped out from under him.

"Promise?" He let his hand slip down her arm as she slipped away.

"Of course." She kissed him on the cheek. "What did Wilson have to say about us moving in together?" She was making them tuna sandwiches. It was the easiest thing to prepare with all the activity and mess surrounding them.

"He doesn't know." House took his sandwich and bit into it greedily. He was starving. Bossing around moving guys was a lot of work.

"You didn't tell Wilson?" She wasn't sure what that meant. House told Wilson everything. Was he ashamed? Having second thoughts?

"Why, do you want me to?" He cocked his head and looked at her curiously.

"He's your best friend. I just assumed you would have told him."

"He'll be spending every free moment here soon enough. Why rush it?" He put his hand on the table. He wanted to take hers but worried it would come off as too needy so his hand stopped half way and dropped to the cool surface of the table. He tapped his fingers on the table as a cover story that didn't quite work.

Cuddy reached over and took his hand. "You want me to yourself?" She smiled.

House started to sweat. He was getting nervous. Commitment was one thing, talking about commitment was something else entirely. He pulled his hand away. "Until I get sick of you. Then I'll tell him."

"You don't think he's going to figure it out before then?"

"Before tomorrow? Nah." House laughed. Cuddy arched an eyebrow at him.

"Where do you want this?" A mover popped his head into the kitchen. He pointed behind him to a big box marked clothes.

"Bedroom." House stated proudly.

"Right. We're almost done. Just a couple boxes of clothes, then we'll be out of your hair."

"Works for me." House grinned at Cuddy.

"I have to go check on Rachel." Cuddy got up, pulling herself out of his orbit and headed to her daughters room.

House appeared behind her a few seconds later. He watched quietly as Cuddy rocked Rachel on her shoulder and made baby talk at her and gave her a kiss. "You know you don't have to talk to her like that." House took a step into the room.

"I know," Cuddy said in baby talk, making faces at her cooing daughter.

"You'll stunt her intelligence." House looked jealously at the baby. It wasn't the jealousy he had felt before, a jealousy built on Cuddy's attention. This time it was a jealousy that he didn't like. A tinge of jealousy that Rachel wasn't his; that he couldn't make funny faces at her and babble incoherently like an idiot.

He dismissed the feeling as soon as he realized what it really was. It didn't matter what he wanted. He wasn't suited to parenthood. He was in no position to bring a child into this world.

"Can you hold her a moment?" Cuddy gently shoved the child into his arms and vanished down the hall. House watched her helplessly, holding Rachel awkwardly in his arms.

House looked down into Rachel's big brown eyes. Both he and Cuddy had blue eyes. He frowned. Rachel wasn't his child. She wasn't their child. She was just some poor little baby whose parents couldn't be bothered to raise her themselves. Now she was stuck with House as a father figure. The kid didn't stand a chance.

Rachel dribbled a line of spittle down her cheek. It pooled on House's shirt sleeve. The look of repulsion on his face made her giggle. Giggling usually got her whatever she wanted, but this guy wasn't responding properly. He was supposed to make faces at her or sing or otherwise entertain her, instead he was just looking down at her, watching her with those scary intense eyes. She stopped giggling quickly and stared back at him, her big brown eyes trying hard to melt his cold heart.

House felt his heart melting and quickly revved up his mental freezer. She wasn't giggling because she liked him or anything as sappy as that. It was just one of the few ways babies knew of to express themselves. She could very well just have gas.

Rachel smiled at him. It was her patented killer smile. It wasn't nearly as good as Cuddy's but she was young still and had a lot to learn.

House grinned awkwardly back at her. It was a flash of a smile. He wasn't committing to anything, just returning the gesture.

Then her little hand reached out for his giant finger and he about died. "Shyte." She had won this round, but the war wasn't over yet.

He wiggled his finger in her tiny little grasp and watched as she giggled happily and tightened her grip on him and his heart.

"She likes it when you shake it back and forth." Cuddy had been watching from the doorway. She had never seen anything more beautiful in her life and the glow in her cheeks betrayed that fact.

"Good for her," House grumbled, shoving the kid quickly back into her mother's arms.

Cuddy happily took her daughter back. House could pretend all he wanted, but Cuddy saw something in his eyes when he looked down at Rachel that looked a lot like fatherly love to her. "The movers have left. You should start unpacking all your boxes. I'd start with the clothes in the bedroom. That way when you get bored at least that will have been done." She smiled at him knowingly. She wanted him to know she'd seen him with his guard down and that she wasn't running away screaming or whatever he feared would happen.

"Yeah." House grumbled as he pushed passed her. Shame and embracement colored his cheeks. He had an image to uphold and that image did not include warming up to babies or becoming domestically content, even though that is exactly what was happening to him.

As he walked to the bedroom he looked back at her, at them, his girls. This was going to be his life now. He wasn't sure when it had happened, or what he had done to deserve it, but he had just gotten everything he wanted. He was drug free, he was in love, and he had a family. He knew something was going to go wrong but he didn't want to think of it now. Right now he wanted to unpack and take a long hot bath.


	24. I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero

**I'LL NEVER BE ANYBODY'S HERO**

House blew off lunch with Wilson to have lunch with Cuddy but she stood him up. Just as he was leaving the cafeteria, preparing to stalk into her office and embarrass her in front of whomever it was she deemed more important than him, Wilson walked in.

"There you are." Wilson seemed glad to see him.

"And here I go." House was already on his feet.

"Wait. Where are you going? I thought you said you couldn't make lunch."

"I can't, which is why I am going." House tried to leave again but Wilson looked at him with those big brown puppy dog eyes.

"But why were you here in the first place?"

"I was trying to avoid you." House sat back down, knowing that Wilson wasn't going to give up now that he'd found him.

"Didn't work." Wilson sat down across from his friend. "What's in the bag?" He nodded at a small brown bag House was clutching in his hand.

"Lunch." House put the bag down and pulled out a turkey sandwich.

"A sandwich? Not left over pizza, or left over Thai or…"

"A sandwich." House confirmed, taking a big bite out of it.

"You never bring sandwiches." Wilson knew something was up. Something was different with his best friend. It wasn't just the sandwich. House had this…glow about him today. It was weird. "Why did you bring a sandwich today?"

"Because I had a sandwich and thought, hey, a sandwich, what a great idea for lunch. I think I'm going to patent it. Revolutionize the way American's eat."

Wilson slumped visibly with disappointment. "American's have been eating sandwiches for lunch for centuries. You, on the other hand, would have had to MAKE a sandwich in order to bring it for lunch, and you never make sandwiches."

"What can I say? Mayfair has changed me."

Wilson eyed him suspiciously. "You don't change. Not that easily, and not unless you really want to."

"You caught me. I really wanted to change."

Wilson watched silently, trying to be House. It wasn't easy being House. He had no idea what to look for. "Come on. Tell me what's going on?" He couldn't do it. He was much better at being Wilson and begging for information.

"I fired 13. The case is coming along well now that she and Foreman aren't making out every time I turn my back and I moved in with Cuddy. It's been a pretty productive week…" House was trying to bury that last proclamation with babble, but Wilson had caught it.

"What do you mean you moved in with Cuddy?"

"I mean I packed up all my crap and moved it to her house so it can be with all her crap."

"You're dating?" Wilson felt so out of the loop.

"No, we're living together, like roommates. She's so not my type." House rolled his eyes at the density of Wilson's comprehension skills.

"Oh my God! You're a couple!"

"Not a couple. We're living together." The world couple gave House a chill.

"And sleeping together?"

"And sleeping together." Wasn't that a given?

"And you go out sometimes?"

"Rarely." House didn't like where this was going.

"You're dating. You're a couple." Wilson was giddy. "Oh My God! House! You're in a RELATIONSHIP!"

"Am not." House wasn't sure why he was denying it. He was in a relationship with Cuddy and he liked being in a relationship with Cuddy. Then again, he also liked yanking Wilson's chain. Maybe it was just because he was talking to Wilson.

"Are too! And with Cuddy." Wilson had this odd awe around Cuddy. She was like this otherworldly being. He simply didn't understand her. She wasn't like the needy damsels he was used to. She intimidated him a little. But she was perfect for House. The only woman yet who could take him in large doses. Even House's own mother seemed to only be able to deal with him in from far away.

"Shhhh." House didn't want the whole hospital to know, which was why he didn't want Wilson to know. That man blabbed like a fish mongers chatty wife.

"But you and Cuddy…" Wilson couldn't get over it. First House comes back and says he's off drugs. Now he was in a relationship. Wilson was getting the best friend he'd always wanted.

"I'm also discovering a strange new disease. Wanna talk about that?" Wilson didn't seem to hear him. "Nope, didn't think so." House slunk down in his seat and prepared for the attack of questions Wilson was building up to.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked Foreman to run another MRI…"

"No. You or Cuddy? Whose idea was it?"

"Initially I took the file, but when I told Cuddy I thought I could save the guys life…"

"No, House. Moving in together. Was it your idea?" Wilson looked a little worried when he thought about it. "Oh, this isn't some detox thing is it? You're not using her to get over the pills?"

"I'm using her for sex. The fact that it gets me over the pills is a happy coincidence." House was getting annoyed. He wished he had a pill right about then.

"Fine." Wilson realized he wasn't going to get a straight answer and gave up. "So you're still torturing poor George Abrams then?" He stabbed his lettuce with his fork. He imagined it had House's face and it screamed out as the fork passed through it.

"I'm not torturing him, I'm saving his life. That thing, in his brain is not a tumor. He doesn't have brain cancer."

"I know. I diagnosed it as benign." Wilson hated House second guessing his diagnosis, taking over his patient as if Wilson weren't capable of handling a basic cancer case.

"It's not benign, well it is, because it's NOT a tumor."

"Then what the hell is it?" Wilson's voice was rising. He tried to stop it, but it was mad, and it wasn't going to take it anymore.

House backed down and responded calmly. "I don't know, yet! I'm down a team member."

"That's your own fault House. Hire her back."

"Why would I do that? Foreman's actually acting like a doctor again."

"Because you fired her for no reason."

"I held Rachel last night." House wanted to change the subject. He hated having to explain himself. "Read her a story." He made an uncomfortable face.

"That's great House." Wilson looked genuinely pleased. "That's right, you're like a father figure for her now."

"No. Stop that." House saw the glint in Wilson's eye. It was the look a father would get if he were proud of his baby boy, or at least House assumed. His own father, at least, the man who raised him, had never looked at him that way, and as far as he knew, his biological father had just never looked at him.

He wondered, for a split second, if his birth father even knew he existed. Was there someone out there wondering where he was and what he was doing? Perhaps he had followed his career, even kept a scrapbook. He shook the thought off. It was whimsical and pointless. No one out there was wondering what he had turned out like. No one out there cared.

House conveniently forgot about his mother when he was having a pity party. He knew she cared but didn't like to think about it. He didn't like to think about the disappointment he had been to her. She wanted grandchildren, she wanted to see him happy, she wanted him to come home for holidays and birthdays, none of those things had ever happened.

He wondered what she would say if he told her about Cuddy and about Rachel. Would she accept an adopted grandchild as her own? Would she like Cuddy? He knew she liked her, they had met a few times, but would she like her as a daughter-in-law.

House actually jumped a little in his seat.

"Are you alright?" Wilson looked anxiously at his friend, glancing down at his leg to make sure that wasn't the problem.

"I'm fine." House pushed him away, embarrassed at the attention he had attracted and frightened by the thoughts he had just had.

He had no right to be imagining the things he was imagining. He had no right to think Cuddy would marry him, that she would let him be the father of her child. He didn't deserve these things. What had he ever done to deserve these things?

"House, are you sure you're alright?" Wilson looked into House's far away gaze and broke the spell.

"I told you, I'm fine. I just had an idea about the case." He lied. "I've got to go."

With that House jumped out of his seat and hurried through the halls of the hospital. He didn't want to run into her so he went the long way, through the back corridors. He didn't want to see his team so he went to the lab instead of his office. There he poured over the files over and over, trying desperately to distract his mind from the visions of happily ever after he was having.

And then he saw it, the answer he'd been looking for. Dr. Gregory House had just discovered a brand new disease. The news would have made him feel a lot better if what he'd just discovered made any bit of difference to his case. George Abrams was going to die. But he wasn't dying of just cancer. He was also dying of Abrams Disease. House had given it some thought and realized he didn't really want his name on an irreversible virus that infected the brain and caused cancer. Besides, House's disease just didn't sound good.


	25. We Hate it When Our Friends Become

**WE HATE IT WHEN OUR FRIENDS BECOME SUCCESSFUL**

It was hard to keep secrets in a hospital. People who worked under the stress of saving lives loved nothing more than to unwind with a bit of gossip. So it didn't take long for word of Abrams' Disease to spread. House buried his head in his work, ignoring all the inquiries and congratulations that came his way. He left his team to field questions while he struggled to iron out the details of the disease.

It appeared that Abrams' Disease struck at the base of the brainstem. It triggered a release of bad toxins into the body which mirrored cancer cells. It wasn't technically cancer that had infested George Abrams' body. Still, the prognosis for him hadn't changed.

When House relayed this information to his patient George sighed. He hadn't expected House to perform a Hail Mary Pass. Well, he expected House to try, he just didn't think there was anyone there to catch it, and he was right. It only took a matter of weeks before George Abrams was no more. But he did approve of his name living on in the guise of the disease that took his life. He had always enjoyed a nice twist of irony.

Taub attended the funeral. He was the only one. Kutner would have, had he still been alive. Cameron and Chase would have, had they still been on House's team. House and Foreman never even thought about it. Foreman didn't really care. He hardly knew the guy. House couldn't bear to look the Abrams children in the eye. He'd made Cuddy tell them the bad news.

Wilson tried to get House to go but House said he was busy. "Busy doing what?" Sometimes his friend's antipathy for sentiment annoyed Wilson in ways he would never know.

"Working." House had barely slept, barely ate, he spent every moment he could in his office, in front of his charts and X-Rays. Cuddy worried about him, but she knew better than to try and stop him. Wilson didn't.

"You've worked enough. If you won't come to the funeral, at least come out and get some dinner with me. I'm buying." That always worked.

"I said I'm busy." House snapped.

"Figuring this out now won't bring him back." Wilson misunderstood.

"I'm not trying to bring him back." House heaved a huge breath of frustration. It helped a little. "Don't you understand what this means to me? I have seen something no other living being has seen, or at least if they have they had no idea what it meant. I know what it means.

"Abrams can't be the only person who has this. This is important."

Eventually Wilson gave up trying to convince House that no one would die if he took an hour off for dinner. Instead he went to see Cuddy. It was late and she was already at home, giving Rachel a bath. She came to the door with a wet baby in her arms.

"What?" She snapped before realizing it was Wilson. Her tone softened as she invited him in. "Sorry. What are you doing here?"

Wilson was too busy making faces at Rachel to answer. "Oh, sorry." He realized he was ignoring his friend and boss and pulled his attention away from the dark haired beauty in her arms.

"You want to hold her?" She could see it in his arms. It was best to get it over with or she would never have his full attention.

"Can I?" Wilson's face lit up in a way House's never did when he held Rachel. Cuddy was slowly coming to terms with that.

Wilson took Rachel carefully and held her in front of him for a moment. He kissed her forehead gently then cradled her in his arms. He held her pacifier with one hand while he spoke. "I'm worried about House."

"What else is new?" Free to move around Cuddy tidied up the coffee table. She'd been doing some paperwork and hadn't cleaned it up before giving Rachel her bath. Now she was embarrassed that company, even if it was just Wilson, saw the mess.

"This is different. It's like he's possessed."

Cuddy sat down. This was going to require her full attention. "House…" she wasn't sure how to put it. "House needs to feel like he's still…good at his job."

"He's been back almost a month now. And he knows he's good at his job." He never let anyone forget he was good at his job.

"I know he acts like he knows it but…"

"You're worried too." He could see it in her face.

"We have to stay out of this James. We have to let him figure this out on his own."

"Figure what out?" Wilson didn't like the sound of that at all. It was his job as House's friend to butt in when he thought House needed it.

"Figure out his place in the world?" She wasn't really sure. "Figure out who he is without the Vicodin."

"He knows who he is."

"Does he?" Cuddy wasn't so sure. After all, she lived with the man. She and apparently only she knew about the pacing in the middle of the night, the nightmares that caused him to thrash around and left him in a cold sweat.

"How's everything here?" Wilson caught a hint of something, a darkness that crossed quickly over her eyes. She was keeping something from him.

"Just let him keep working on this project. He needs it." Cuddy's voice pleaded more than her words and Wilson took the hint.

The next day at work, and the day after and day after that, he kept his distance. Let House come to him when he was ready. That was the right way to handle this, surely. But House didn't come.

Wilson passed by his office more frequently than necessary. There was a bathroom closer to his office going the other way, but Wilson started using the one down the end of the hall, forcing him to go passed House's office to get there. Each time he glanced in and each time he saw the same thing. Then one day he didn't.

"Where's House?" He popped his head into the adjoining meeting room. Foreman was sitting at the computer, typing away. He was updating his resume, but he didn't tell Wilson that.

"He went to see Cuddy." Foreman hardly looked up. There was no point.

Wilson hurried to Cuddy's office. He wasn't sure what he was going to say when he got there. He just had this feeling of foreboding. Something was going on.

Loud chatter was coming from her office. The blinds were drawn and the door closed. Linda the gatekeeper stood up when she saw Wilson coming. "I'm sorry Dr. Wilson. Dr. Cuddy is busy."

"Is House in there?" Wilson asked, admiring Linda's new red blouse.

"Yes." Linda blushed and looked away.

"Anyone else?" It sounded like a party.

"A few people from the Medical Review Board I think. And a reporter." Linda offered up that last bit, proud to have remembered.

Wilson smiled back at her. "Thanks Linda. I think it's okay if I go in."

Linda hurried around her desk. "No, um, I'm sorry Dr. Wilson. Dr. Cuddy said no interruptions." She looked at Cuddy's shut door then leaned in and whispered to him. "This is big. It's about that discovery House made. I think they're giving him an award or something." She sounded impressed. Wilson looked crestfallen.

How could House have not told him? Why wasn't he in that room? He heard the party breaking up and stepped away from the door, leaning casually against the wall like he just happened to be there rather than like he had been standing there for twenty minutes trying to think of a good excuse to interrupt them.

"Wilson!" House walked over and clapped his arm around Wilson's shoulder. "This is Dr. Wilson. I couldn't have done it without him. Abrams was originally his patient, diagnosed with cancer. Dr. Wilson kindly let me have a crack at the case. The rest, as they say, is history."

Cuddy could see the look of disappointment on Wilson's face and gave him a sympathetic smile. He grinned and bore House's grandiose pronouncements until his audience vanished down the hall. "What was that?" He asked once the trio were alone in Cuddy's office.

"House is going to Atlanta to present his findings to the CDC."

"The Center of Disease Control," Wilson was impressed. House never gave presentations and the CDC was big time.

"If you need me to go with him…" Wilson trailed off, hoping she would pick up the scent.

"Cuddy's coming with me." House looked over at Cuddy. "Right boss?"

Cuddy sighed. "Yes House. I'm sorry Wilson. Maybe next time." She was sorry. She would much rather let Wilson be House's handler. "But I do have a favor to ask you."

"Great." Wilson didn't sound great. He sounded like a deflated balloon.

"Could you watch Rachel while we're gone? She has two nanny's that will be with her during the day, but she needs someone to watch her overnight and play with her before bed. I thought…" This time she was the one to trail off, hoping he would pick up the scent.

"I would love to." He would also love to be the one speaking to the CDC and getting written up in medical journals, but can't have everything. If all he got was to play Uncle Jimmy for a while, that was okay too. "How long will you be gone?"

"Just overnight." Cuddy didn't want to prolong this trip any more than she had to.

"Maybe two." House injected. He was high once again. Not on drugs, or sex with Cuddy this time, but on achievement. It was the greatest high of them all. "My mom lives near there. She would kill me if I didn't go see her."

Cuddy and Wilson both stared, blinking for several minutes. House never voluntarily went to see his family, not even his mother, though she was the only one he would go see at all. Neither of them said anything, and Cuddy soon kicked the boys out of her office. She had work to do.

"You're really going to see your mother?" Wilson asked as they walked down the hall together, just like old times.

"Like I said, she'll kill me if I don't."

"She won't actually kill you."

"No, but she has the uncanny ability to make me wish I was dead." It was the look of disappointment that did it. When she'd look at him and think of all the things she had wished for him that had not come true. That's when she made him want to hang himself from the nearest rafter. But maybe his showing up with Cuddy would alleviate that a little, if he didn't go into too much detail and let his mother think what she wanted to. He just had to make sure they didn't spend time alone together. That was the trick.


	26. The Father Who Must Be Killed

**THE FATHER WHO MUST BE KILLED**

House hesitated before knocking on the door. The last time he had seen his mother had been his father's funeral, and it hadn't gone particularly well. That was also the last time he'd spoken to her. He turned, prepared to return to his hotel and the mini-bar until Cuddy pushed passed him and rung the bell with an exasperated sigh. "Really, you're a grown man."

"You don't know…" House never got to finish that thought. The door had swung open and his sweet faced mother was staring up at him in near tears. "Gregory!" She put out her arms and threw them around her son.

House could see Cuddy smiling as he looked over his mother's head. He grimaced at her as she mouthed the words 'this was your idea'.

"Oh, where are my manors? Come in, come in." Blythe House smiled politely at Cuddy. She knew Lisa Cuddy as her son's boss, the one he was constantly complaining about. She had met her a couple times and found the younger woman quite lovely. She had gone so far as to ask her son if there was anything going on between them. He scoffed.

"It's lovely to see you again Mrs. House." Cuddy had brought a bottle of wine and she handed it to Blythe.

"You to my dear. What have you been up to? Still trying to keep my son in line?" Blythe looked back at House proudly but he missed it. He usually did.

"Trying." Cuddy smiled back at House. She saw him disengaging and took his hand. "He probably hasn't told you, but we are living together." Cuddy wasn't afraid of parents. She wasn't worried about Blythe getting 'the wrong idea' about her or disapproving of living together before marriage and all that. She could feel House's large hand closing tightly around her in disapproval but she stood her ground, knowing he would have dragged his feet or maybe not told his mother at all.

"Oh!" Blythe's hands went up to her face. "Oh," she said again. She looked at House accusingly.

"I was going to tell you," he said meekly. He hated how she made him feel like a child. That's why he avoided her. Not because he hated her. It was because he lost all his confidence around her. She made him feel small. She made him feel insignificant, which was ironic, since he was the most significant person in her life.

"No you weren't," Blythe frowned. She knew her son well enough to know he didn't share personal information with her. He never had, even as a boy.

Oh the countless days he'd come home from school with a scowl on his face. She'd always make him something to eat and would sit across from him at the table, trying desperately to get him to tell her what was wrong. "Noffing," he'd say with his mouth full of peanut butter and jelly and the Wonder Bread he liked so much. She'd keep trying until he was done with his sandwich at which point he would dart out of the room as fast as he could claiming he had lots of homework to do.

House shrugged. His way of telling her was to bring Cuddy here. He figured the rest would work itself out, and look, it did. "Are you going to offer us something to eat?" Blythe was an excellent cook. It was his favorite thing about coming to see her.

"Oh, yes," Blythe dithered about a bit. House had called to tell her they were coming, but she hadn't believed him. At first she hadn't even thought it was him, then she imagined Wilson holding a gun to his head and forcing him to call. Now, seeing Cuddy, she realized why he'd called. "I am so proud of you honey." She put a hand on his cheek and looked deep into his eyes before turning and hurrying away.

"I should go help," Cuddy said tentatively, not moving toward the kitchen.

"You'll just be in her way." House took her by the hand and led her to the couch. "I'd show you my childhood bedroom but I don't have one." He said it simply enough, but there was a lot of pain in his words.

The pronouncement led to an awkward silence. Cuddy studied the photos on the wall. "Is this your uncle?" She pointed to a tall, uniformed young man who was the spitting image of House.

House studied the photo. He'd never seen it before. His mother had probably been hiding it from John House for years. And he hadn't seen the man in the photo, the man he called Uncle Paul, in over thirty years. "He's my father."

"It doesn't look anything like him." Cuddy had met House's father before he died. His father was a stocker, rougher looking man. This guy had House's grace and length. She leaned in closer, trying to see some sign of the man she had met, thinking perhaps she had remembered him wrong.

"My mother had an affair." House was numb to it. There was no bitterness or anger in his voice. He hadn't liked John House so there was no point in getting worked up because his mother had the sense to cheat on him. Good for her, House thought, though deeper in his thoughts he wondered why she didn't just leave John and spare her son a lifetime of belittlement and abuse.

"…" Cuddy was speechless. Normally she would respond to such news by asking if the person revealing it was okay or if they wanted to talk about it but House was House, and he seemed oddly fine.

"I used to call him Uncle Paul. He would come over, mostly when John was away. I was eight when I finally figured it out."

"You knew?" Cuddy was horrified. She scratched the surface of wondering how and when she would tell Rachel the truth about her own family tree. Eight seemed entirely too young.

"Of course." House was mildly insulted that she didn't think him every bit as capable as a child at reading people as he was now. "They weren't terribly discreet."

"Did your father know?" She wasn't yet comfortable with calling him John.

House hadn't really given it much thought, so he thought about it for a moment, gazing at a photo of John and Blythe House, standing side by side, barely touching and staring sternly into the camera. "He must have."

"About the affair, but, but not about you, right?" Cuddy couldn't imagine the kind of animosity that knowledge could breed.

"He knew." House had to believe that it was the very reason John House was such a jerk to him his whole life. He was taking out his anger at his wife on the helpless little token of his wife's infidelity. "And he took it out on me." House didn't look at Cuddy, but he felt her arm slip around his waist and her head rest against his shoulder. He also felt his arm, with no direction from him, slipping around her and holding her close.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why? You didn't do it. My mother did." It was the first time he had put any of the blame on his mother. During his childhood he had needed her to be the good one. His father demanded too much of him and his father's form of discipline sometimes bordered on military torture. He never hit his son, never raised a hand to him, but the things he would do made young Greg cry just the same.

His mother, therefore, became his sanctuary. She was the only person he could turn to for affection. She tried to make up for the discipline by being overly affectionate, but smothering her son with love and attention, but he knew her heart wasn't in it. He could tell by the difference in her face when she looked at him and when she looked at Uncle Paul.

Her face would light up when she looked at Paul Hart, the tall, dark, rugged Marine Captain who doubled as John's boss. Even when she mentioned his name little Greg saw the love in his mothers eyes. He didn't see that, at least not to the same unbridled extent when she looked at him.

He didn't doubt that she loved him. He never doubted that. She had to, he was her son and that was how she was raised. Plus there was a little piece of her precious Paul in him. That had to make her feel some affection toward the boy. But it wasn't as strong as she pretended it was. House could tell. He felt it when she tried too hard. She wasn't the only one who could spot a lie.

"I'm fine," he said apologetically. He didn't mean to snap at Cuddy. None of this had anything to do with her. He pointing out another picture. "This is the man who raised me. For all intents and purposes, he is my father. His blood may not be running through my veins, but the lessons he taught me have been burned into my brain. He did a crappy job but there is nothing I can do to change it."

"But don't you wonder…"

"It's pointless to wonder. Nothing can change the past." House turned and headed for the kitchen.

His mother was slaving over the stove. She was making jambalaya. Greg always loved her jambalaya. She'd learned it when they spent that year in Parris Island. "Can I help?"

Blythe didn't really want her son to help. She had a flow when she was cooking and a pair of helping hands would only disrupt that flow, but it was so rare that her son offered to help her with anything that she quickly said yes and set him to harmlessly setting the table.

"She's a lovely young woman," Blythe said casually.

"She's not that young." House found it amusing to hear Cuddy referred to as a young woman, especially since she was his boss.

"How long have you been together?" Blythe finished chopping the sausage and tossed it into the pan.

"You mean biblically?" House was setting the table with care. His mother liked things just so.

"Don't say such things!" his mother said scoldingly and House smirked with amusement.

"We just moved in together a couple of weeks ago," House mumbled. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Blythe stopped stirring the rice long enough to look at her son. "You love her don't you?" House nodded silently. "Then it is a huge deal!"

"Whatever." House hated that expression. He hated the disaffected teens who used the expression and he hated himself now for using it, but, like all those teens he loathed, it was the best answer he could give his mother, something between dismissive and submissive.

"And don't you 'whatever' me either." Blythe went back to cooking. That was about as stern as she ever got with her son, or with anyone. She seemed formidable, but deep down she hated confrontation. It was probably the reason she never talked to her husband about his treatment of her son.

"Did your husband know?" House asked, thinking about that picture in the living room.

"Know what?" Blythe genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.

"Nothing." House once again sounded like a disaffected youth. He didn't really want to have this conversation with her, ever. There was not point to it. It's just that seeing that picture, well both pictures really, his two father's standing side by side forever in their little silver frames, it just got him wondering if Blythe still saw Paul, if she knew where he was, what he had done with his life.

It didn't matter. Paul Hart was just an old family friend to House, nothing more. He was a kindly uncle who came and brought Greg books and trinkets from overseas, something House's father rarely did. He was the guy who taught the boy House once was how to play ball. In many ways, he was a father to him, at least, that's how House remembered it, and that was enough. He didn't want to shatter the illusion of his distorted memories by discovering the drunken arse his biological father really was. "I'm gonna go check on Cuddy."

"Cuddy?" Blythe was taken aback.

"Yeah, Cuddy." Had his mother already forgotten the woman he came with? Cuddy was the only reason House even came to visit his mother.

"You live with her and you call her by her last name?" That didn't sound right.

"And she calls me House. It's our thing. Leave it alone." He could see the spark of interference being ignited in her eyes.

"Sometimes I just don't know about you." Blythe shook her head and continued to mumble under her breath about her strange son and his bizarre habits as House left to find Cuddy.

He didn't have to go far. Cuddy was sitting on the couch flipping through an old scrap book. She closed it when she saw him coming. "Did you two have a nice talk?" She assumed Blythe had given him the third degree about them living together.

"Not if you mean did we talk about my fathers." House sat beside her and took the book.

Cuddy watched him open the scrap book. "She's keeping tabs on you." She smiled. "Every article about you, every paper you've written."

House looked once again at the cover. It said My Son, The Doctor in big blue letters. House wasn't surprised. He knew his mother was proud of him for being a doctor. It was the one thing she and John always complimented him on. It was about the only thing they complimented him on.

He flipped through the book silently, Cuddy leaning against him, looking over his shoulder and pointing out some of his finer moments. For just a moment he wondered if Paul Hart knew about him. Had he known, when they were playing catch; that he was playing with his son? Is that why he came around so often, even when Blythe was too busy to 'entertain' him?

He shook the thought off, and joined Cuddy in reminiscing about their first medical conference together, when House had to give a speech on diagnostics. This was before she had hired him and he was pleased to hear that she had gone just so she could hear him speak. She was his family now. He didn't need a father anymore, but he was going to make damned sure that, if she let him, he was going to be a better father to Rachel than either of his fathers ever were to him.


	27. Used to Be a Sweet Boy

**USED TO BE A SWEET BOY**

Blythe came and announced dinner. The threesome started their meal with idle small talk. Blythe asked House about the conference and his speech. He differed to Cuddy who gushed proudly. It was better than gushing proudly himself.

Blythe sympathized with Cuddy. "Does he still leave his clothes on the floor?"

House glowered at her. "You haven't lived with me for over thirty years."

"You were such a slob. I told him over and over to clean his room." Blythe shook her head playfully.

"I taught him to put his clothes in the hamper." Cuddy smirked at House.

"She throws them out if I don't." He glared back.

Blythe laughed approvingly. "Good girl."

"Don't encourage her." House stabbed a piece of sausage with his fork and shoved it in his mouth.

"He used to spend hours and hours in his room. I thought he might be cleaning it, but he wasn't. He was reading books. He'd read the same books over and over. I swear he's got the complete stories of Sherlock Holmes memorized." Blythe was enjoying her trip down memory lane. She knew very little about her grown son, but she had a million stories about her baby boy. It was nice to be able to share them with someone who actually knew him.

Cuddy just nodded and listened. She was enjoying House's discomfort. He hated talking about himself and his past, so this was an opportunity she simply couldn't pass up.

"John used to buy him these toy soldiers and guns. Greg would 'operate' on them." Blythe laughed as she remembered. "At least that's what he called it when I found him one day carefully removing one's leg."

Cuddy smiled warmly at House. It was a cute story, even if he didn't seem to think so. She wondered if Blythe noticed the dark cloud beginning to form over her son's head.

"He was always taking things apart. He was such a curious boy." Blythe looked at her son. He was bigger, and had less hair, but she could see that curiosity was still in his eyes. That made her smile. "He once took my washing machine apart completely. Oh, was John mad when he got home that night and had to put it back together." She seemed oblivious to the wince of pain that came over her son. As oblivious as she had been every time he husband came home and her son ran for cover.

"That sounds like him." Cuddy confirmed.

House excused himself. He needed some air but he pretended he was going to the bathroom. Blythe continued to tell Cuddy stories; he could hear her muffled voice from the other room so he went outside.

The night air hit him instantly. It felt good after the stifling dining room. Or perhaps it was just the conversation he found stifling; the way his mother could so casually chat about the things John House did to him, as if the abuse was all in his head.

That's how she made him feel when he was a child, and he would turn to her for help. "Oh, Greg, it's just your father's way of making sure you become the best you you can be." Young Greg thought that was a load of crap. John House didn't think he would ever be the best at anything. The irony was, Greg was wrong.

John House was trying to whip his son, or the boy he thought was his son, even though it was clear to anyone who looked that Greg House was the progeny of the tall, lanky Paul Hart. Then again, John didn't have the benefit of knowing that every time Paul sent him off on a 'mission' he would show up on the House doorstep for a little private time. John only knew that his father had taught him at the end of a belt and that was how he was going to teach Greg to toughen up.

Greg was plagued by bullies, from a very young age his nerdy awkwardness did not make him popular in school. Add to that his vastly superior brain and inability to keep his mouth shut, and he was often followed home and beaten down half way there. Of all the lessons John taught him, House was only grateful for the lessons in self defense. Sure they were peppered with berating and mocking, but in the end Greg House learned how to defend himself with only a minimum of bruises and scars.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew immediately that it was Cuddy's. It wasn't as heavy a hand as his mother would use. It was soft, and hesitant. Cuddy knew she was interrupting a private thought. House didn't mind though. He was glad of the interruption. "We should get going." He didn't even want to go back in the house to say goodbye.

"You're mother made cobbler." Cuddy had been sent to find him and let him know as Blythe cleared the table. "She'll be disappointed if you don't stay for dessert."

"She's used to being disappointed by me." House didn't look at her.

"Don't say that." Cuddy's heart broke. "Go in and talk to her, you might be pleasantly surprised."

House turned and looked at his lover for a moment. How could he have fallen for someone so naïve? "I think you are the one who is going to be surprised, and it is not going to be pleasant." House turned and walked back into the house leaving Cuddy to look dumb stuck, then terrified before hurrying after him.

"Hello Mother," House said coldly, sitting himself at the dining room table.

Cuddy walked past him giving him a warning glance.

"You told me to talk to her," House said as his mother went to get the cobbler.

"Please House, don't do anything stupid."

"Come on, you know me better than that." House smiled as his mother returned with a warm tray.

"I know it's your favorite." She smiled at her son.

"It was, but that was a long time ago," House said bluntly.

Blythe's face fell and Cuddy kicked him under the table.

"Oh, sorry, Cuddy seems to think that was rude. So, shall we go back to pretending we were the perfect family?"

Blythe stared at him, sinking slowly into her seat. "What are you talking about Greg?" She knew, deep in her heart she knew, but it was something she did not want to face, not now, after all these years.

"You wouldn't understand. You never did and you never will." House pulled a piece of cobbler and put it on a plate that he then handed to his mother. She took it uneasily. He did the same with Cuddy who took it harshly. Then he cute himself a piece and sat back down. "Mmmm, peach cobbler. My favorite."

"House," Cuddy warned.

"You said you didn't like it anymore." Blythe looked at him, her brows knitted together so tightly he was amazed she could still blink.

"I was just kidding Mom." The word mom sounded alien from his lips. Blythe didn't seem to notice.

"Oh Greg. You shouldn't do that." She turned to Cuddy. "He's such a kidder."

"Yes." Cuddy had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. She thought her family was dysfunctional, but this dinner was making her grateful for a domineering mother and rather goofy father.

House looked at his mother for a long time. Pity tinted his eyes. She really was a sad old woman, always had been. She had been living in a delusion for years, and House had let her. She was the only person in his life that he allowed to remain in their delusion. It was his way of protecting her. It was the only way he could show her his love.

Cuddy had no appetite and simply pushed her cobbler around on her plate until House started to pick up pieces of it with his fork and eating it for her. Then it came time to go.

Blythe showed them to the door and gave them each a hug. She hugged her son a little longer than he would have liked, but he let her. He saw her, at most, once a year so it wouldn't kill him to pretend the closeness didn't bother him.

Cuddy promised to call when they got home, let Blythe know they arrived safely. She was about to say she would send a photo of Rachel but House stopped her. He hadn't told his mother about the baby and clearly didn't want to bring it up now.

When they were safely in the car House finally let out his breath. He felt like he'd been holding it all evening. "I'm glad that's over." His plan for the rest of the night was to drive back to the hotel, empty the mini bar and let Cuddy have her way with him.

"Why did you want to come?" The question had been nagging at Cuddy all night. House clearly hadn't enjoyed his visit with his mother, but it had been entirely his idea with no prompting at all from her.

House didn't answer for a while. He just drove, eyes glued to the dark road before him and his mind racing faster than the rented Ford ever could. "I wanted her to know I was okay." He wasn't sure if he wanted to gloat about not needing her or if he wanted to alleviate some of his mothers constant worry about him. Both were achieved by the same means, so it really didn't matter.

"Do you feel better now?" Cuddy could tell something had been bothering him the whole visit. She assumed it was ghosts from his past haunting him. She was right.

House moved his hand from the steering wheel to her hand, which was rested on her leg. "Yes. I got what I wanted." In his own way, House got closure. It wasn't what a normal person might consider closure, but for House it worked.

didn't care who his father was, Paul Hart might have been the man who helped make him, but John House was the man who helped mold him into who he was, and for better or for worse, Gregory House was the product of both these men. But more than that, he was the son of the woman they had just visited, a sweet, kind, delusional woman whose heart he just couldn't break with the truth. That was the part of himself he got from her.

The sweet boy named Greg would always live on in her delusions. He couldn't bring himself to shatter those delusions and kill the child he never was but she always wanted him to be. It was his gift to her.


	28. Pashernate Love

**PASHERNATE LOVE**

House focused on the road before him, his mother and the memories of his crappy childhood were soon a dot in his rear view mirror. He couldn't be happier about leaving either of them far behind him.

Cuddy sat quietly, knowing he didn't want to talk about it. She noticed how often he had reached into his pocket during their visit. His hand must have wrapped its long fingers around his mint filled pill bottle most of the evening. Yet he hadn't taken it out of his pocket and he hadn't taken a single fake Vicodin since they passed the threshold of his mother's house. She also noticed he took a handful as soon as they had left.

"Is your leg bothering you?" She was concerned. She was always concerned. The difference was, he was getting used to it now.

"No more than usual." House didn't like to think about it.

Silence got them back to the hotel. The elevator got them back to their room. Half way up House started singing _Love in an Elevator_.

"Forget it House."

House stopped singing.

The lift door opened and House followed Cuddy down the hall.

House was still humming the song but made up new words. "Love in a cheap hotel room…"

"Cheap? This hotel room cost a fortune."

House visibly shrunk into himself. "That's all you have to say?"

Cuddy turned and smiled as she slowly unlocked the door. As soon as it swung open she grabbed him by the coat and pulled him inside. As soon as the door was shut behind them, she pushed him up against the closed door and forced her mouth hard against his.

House showed his approval by tearing at her clothes, desperate to free her from their evil grasp. He wanted her flesh to breathe the artificially cooled air before he pulled it against his own, heating it up in ways he hoped she couldn't imagine.

She was clawing at his shirt as they kissed, Their mouths parting only long enough to pull a shirt over a head or take a breath like a scuba diver coming up for air. He always appreciated it when she wanted him as much as he wanted her. It helped to spur him to greatness, and tonight, he needed to be great.

They stumbled across the room, a four legged creature with no grace and slammed down onto the mattress. House felt her weight press down on top of him and held her tight, locking her in place. His massive hand slipped down her bare skin and over the swell of her tender bottom. He squeezed it as he so often did when they were alone, or when they were not alone but he knew no one was watching or how he imagined doing it when they were watching.

She purred against his cheek. The wine his mother had poured them was making her cheeks warm. His touch was making the rest of her warm. "Take me now," she whispered against his ear, sending a chill of pleasure through his body.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, quickly shifting her onto her back and leaning over her.

"I didn't ask," she corrected, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and pulling him down on top of her.

At that point the talking stopped, as their tongues found a much better activity, that of wrapping themselves around each other in a passionate tango. Cuddy moaned as she kissed. House loved that about her. She wasn't a gentle lover. She was fierce, and passionate, and let him know exactly what she wanted, and right now she was doing that by guiding his hand between her legs.

House smiled through the kiss, his lips curling up at the sides as he felt her teeth gently nibbling at the meaty center of his lower lip. It was his turn to moan, and he did, but where hers was slow and sensual, his was fast and primal.

His need for her had always been primal. He had tried to rationalize it away many times over the past twenty plus years. Many times he had played out the tragedy their romance would undoubtedly be, the hurt he would cause her, the pain she would cause him. Every time he toyed with the notion of asking her out for something as simple as a drink he played out their inevitable break up.

In his mind it was every bit as devastating as his break up with Stacy had been, with the added pain of losing a long time friend. Losing Stacy had caused him years of self abuse and pain. But he hadn't known Stacy before hooking up with her. He'd slept with her the night they met and moved in with her about a week later. It had been a whirlwind. It had been something he couldn't ever have with Cuddy. It had been reckless.

He hadn't had that freedom with Cuddy in decades and he had been too young and arrogant to appreciate the opportunity when he'd had it. He broke her heart all those years ago simply because he could, because he was young and thought there were other fish in the sea. And here he was, nearly twenty three years later, swimming up the same stream he had been swimming all those years ago.

"What's so funny?" Cuddy had been enjoying the feel of House's soft, wet lips as they trailed over her breasts, but he had broken the spell by laughing against her skin, just a short little snort out of his nose, but enough to ruin the mood.

"I was just thinking of how far we've come." His hand had slipped up between her legs and he continued to tease her as they spoke.

"What do you mean?" Her body responded to even the slightest move of his fingers. He loved watching the effect he had on her.

"Remember the summer of 1985?" he stroked her gently as he thought back to those hot Michigan nights.

"Mmmhmmm," she nodded, a smile of pleasure clashing with the bittersweet smile of reminiscence. "How could I forget?"

"You had just finished your freshmen year and had signed up to do volunteer work at University Hospital. I was just starting my internship. I accused you of stalking me." He leaned over and kissed her breast with a smile.

"I was stalking you." She felt a flush of warmth rush over her body. "I thought you were fascinating."

"I am fascinating." House slipped his fingers into her, causing her to gasp with pleasure. "And I'm pretty sure we did something very similar to this."

"Yes, but you were quizzing me on venereal diseases if I remember correctly." She remembered it well, still dreamt about it when she was lonely.

"And you were quizzing me on my personal life." House reached down and kissed the other breast. "Don't think I didn't notice."

"I didn't care if you noticed." She felt sad for a moment. "I was a lot braver then." It was the loss of the girl she once was that made her sad. How could that girl, who had gone after young Intern Greg have waited so long to try again?

"You're brave now." House admired her for her bravery, not that he'd ever tell her that. She had fought hard to get where she was and wasn't willing to let anyone tell her she couldn't run a hospital, or be a mother, or have a relationship with him for that matter. Lisa Cuddy was one of the bravest people he knew. He had no idea how frightened she was inside.

"Not like I was then." She tried to stop thinking, letting the feeling of him wash over her. She closed her eyes to heighten her sense of touch. She breathed in slowly and let the air out as she felt him pushing deeper into her. His touch was not meant to do anything more than make her body tingle. And it did.

"I was the idiot." House knew it the moment he let her go. "I should have begged you to stay."

She opened her eyes, their brilliant blue pierced right through him. "Why didn't you?"

"I don't know." He thought for a moment, absentmindedly stroking her, the ferocity of a few minutes ago replaced by an easy togetherness he couldn't ever have with anyone but her. "Maybe I figured you would always be there."

She laughed. The man was never wrong. It was like he just couldn't be. And he wasn't wrong about this. "I always have."

He laughed with her. "Yes." He was sick of talking. He was afraid that talking about the past would make her realize what she did then, that Gregory House was simply not boyfriend material, so he leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her so deeply that she felt it in her toes.

She threw her arms around him and wouldn't let him up for air. She was afraid to let go of him for fear she would wake up from this long dream and realize it was all a trick, some scheme of his to get out of clinic duty or something.

"I love you Gregory House." It was weird, even though they had been intimate quite a lot lately, and they were living together, she still hadn't just called him Greg. It didn't feel right. It was as if she was afraid to break a spell if she said his name out loud.

"I love you too Lisa Cuddy." He hadn't said her name either. She was Cuddy. In college they had been Greg and Lisa, but that was a lifetime ago and they were different people, this Greg and this Lisa. They were young and self possessed, life hadn't beaten them down yet and they thought they could do anything. House and Cuddy knew better. They had been through their share of heartbreak and disappointment. They weren't fearless and carefree.

"Then shut up and show me!" She was tired of this chit chat. She wanted sex. She loved having sex, especially with a partner like House. The man was skilled in ways she hadn't remembered, or perhaps he had picked up some of these skills over the years between their couplings. She didn't know and she didn't care. She just wanted to have him.

House, for his part, didn't object. He pushed his weight down on top of her, feeling her guide him inside. She cried out as his length penetrated her depths, as he pushed in and out with force, grunting and huffing with each thrust of his mighty shaft. He wanted to make her cum. He needed to make her cum. After the trips down memory lane, first with his mother then with Cuddy, he needed to prove to her, and to himself, that he was all man. He wasn't a sweet boy and he wasn't an arrogant intern. He was Doctor Gregory House, world renowned in his field, the best in his specialty, the discoverer of a new disease, and the conqueror of the most beautiful woman in the world.

That's what she was to him, lying their beneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her hands clawing at his back, hungry for him, needing him inside her. The way she looked at him when they were in the throes of passion made her the most beautiful woman in the world to him. The way she looked at him in those moments just before he made her explode with passion made him feel like the greatest man in the world, like he could do anything.

It wasn't until he rolled off her, both their bodies sticky from sweat, hot to the touch, both of them panting heavily as they stared glassy eyed at the ceiling, that the pain started to creep back and remind him that he couldn't do a lot of things and he wasn't the greatest man in the world. But he would worry about that when the time came. Right now he was focused on her.

Cuddy began to rock beneath him, forward and back against his own rhythm, making their bodies crash every other second. Apart then crash, apart then crash, in perfect harmony they moved, like a perfectly timed machine their bodies came together and pulled apart to build up enough friction to send them both into another world.

Cuddy cried out. "OH MY GOD!!!!" He loved it when she called him God.

"Yes?" He wondered if she wanted more.

"Don't stop!" Apparently she did, and being the gracious god that he was, House didn't stop.

"Oh GOD!" She cried out again as she felt herself growing wetter, felt the hot, sticky liquid starting to trickle down her inner thigh.

"This is my favorite part," House said in short, grunting gasps as he felt the natural lubricant she was creating.

"Oh shut up!" She didn't need a commentary. She needed him to fuck her, and fuck her hard.

House obliged, pushing into her with all his strength. He thrust so hard her body slipped across the bedspread with each push. She was slowly creeping up the bed through no power of her own. Each time she cried out. Each time House pushed a little harder until he had to climb forward to keep up with her relocation.

Cuddy sucked on his shoulder, scraping the skin with her teeth. She tasted the salt of his skin as she slipped her tongue along it. She nibbled at his neck, sucking on it until the blood started rushing to the surface, then on to his lips where her tongue pushed its way between them.

House thrust again and again, grunting loudly each time, louder than was necessary, trying to impress the neighbors. Cuddy tried to shut him up with her kiss, but that just encouraged him to get even louder when their mouths finally parted.

"Shhhh," she warned him, starting to feel self-conscious about his enthusiasm.

"Afraid the neighbors will complain?" House grinned. He took a sort of sadistic pleasure in embarrassing her. He wouldn't do it if he didn't notice her taking a sort of masochistic pleasure in it as well. "OOOOOH GODDDDDDDD!!!!!!" House cried out as loudly as he could.

"SHUT UP!" Cuddy tried to wiggle out from under him, but not enough to actually succeed. She wasn't going anywhere until he finished what he was doing, no matter how much he screamed.

"OH YES! YES YES YES!!!!!!!" House started pounding one hand on the wall above Cuddy's head. He watched her face as he continued to bang her thoroughly.

Cuddy threw a hand over his mouth and grabbed the arm he was using to lean on the wall. "Stop it!"

"Or what?" House was willing to hear what she had to offer. In the mean time, he stopped everything he was doing, even though it meant stopping inside her. He knew that was going to drive her pleasurably insane.

Cuddy gulped. She could feel him pulsing inside her, feel the blood flowing through his cock as it nestled deeply in her. It felt amazingly, teasingly sublime. At once she wanted the feeling to go on forever and wanted it to come to its inevitable, pleasurable conclusion. She wanted it all.

"Or what?" House repeated, teasing her. He knew he was getting to her, and he loved having that kind of power over a woman who could dominate any man she wanted. Any man, including himself, would roll over and let her do anything she wanted to him, and yet here she was beneath him, totally at his mercy, and loving every minute of it.

Her answer was to start squirming around beneath him. She could feel his dick move inside her as she shifted her hips. "Just be quiet or someone will report us and we'll be kicked out."

"I bet they can't kick us out before you orgasm." House leaned down as if he were going to kiss her, but the second before their lips met he shifted down to her breast and started to suck on it slowly. She continued to move beneath him as he lifted his weight a little. It was nice to make her do some of the work now.

It wasn't long before his leg would give out on him and he knew it, so he lowered himself on top of her and went in for the kill. Moments later Cuddy let out a scream that rivaled any noise he had been making. "Shhhhhh," he said mockingly as he pulled himself out of her and rolled onto his back.

"You bastard," she said, hitting him in the chest weakly. Then she curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I really should hate you."

"I know."

"But I can't." She pouted.

"I know." He smiled.

"You bastard." She hit him again.

"I know." He kissed the top of her head gently, getting a mouthful of hair as thanks. As he tried to pull the strands off his sweaty lips and cheek he felt her growing heavy against him. She was falling asleep.


	29. Driving Your Girlfriend Home

**DRIVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND HOME**

The trip back to Princeton was a quiet one. Cuddy woke up early and packed both their suitcases while House ordered room service and told her she was folding his shirts wrong.

"Do you want to do it?" She held out a random printed tee shirt.

"No, you're doing fine." He stopped complaining about her trifold technique and dug into his omelet.

Cuddy joined him for a fruit cup and coffee then fussed over their paperwork, making sure he had his ID, plane ticket, some cash, a book or something to keep him from spending the whole flight annoying her, chapstick and anything else he might need.

"Yes Mommy," House said as she rattled off her checklist. He was rolling his eyes too, but he appreciated her fussing. It made him feel cared for.

"Don't 'yes Mommy' me House. If you don't have everything you need I'm the one you're going to drive crazy until I find it so here," She tossed him his ticket, which he had claimed to have in his pocket. "Don't lose it this time."

"Yes Mommy." House grinned. He knew that would annoy her. It wasn't his fault, this almost pathological need to annoy her. If she didn't look so hot when she was pissed he wouldn't try so hard to piss her off.

Cuddy picked a grape out of her near empty fruit bowl and tossed it at his head. "It's time to go."

House grabbed the grape as it went rolling down his shoulder and popped it in him mouth. "Yesh Mumbe." He got up, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and tossed it over his shoulder as a strapping young Bell Hop came to take their luggage.

Cuddy ignored House and followed the Bell Hop downstairs then handed him a few dollars as he put the bags into their rental car. "Have a nice trip home Mrs. House." He said with a polite bow. House watched her carefully, looking for some sign of embarrassment, anger, secret pleasure at the name. He was hoping for secret pleasure but he got nothing more than a smile.

"You told him we're married?" She asked when they were safely in the car.

"He thought you were a hooker. I was trying to preserve your reputation." Actually the boy, upon check in, had thought they were married and House just didn't bother correcting him. He liked the idea that anyone would think a woman like Cuddy would marry him.

"Right." She didn't believe him for a second, but she saw no point in pushing the issue. "Take a right at the light," she instructed, looking at the directions the concierge had given her.

"I know how to get to the airport."

"We got lost on the way to the hotel, so forgive me if I don't take you at your word. Here!" She pointed to the street House was meant to turn into.

"If you weren't distracting me, I would have made the turn." House made a quick U-turn and this time headed down the right street.

"Fine, I'll stay quiet, but if you get lost and make us miss our flight you will be flying solo for a while." She stared at him, making sure he understood her.

"We live together now. You can't send me home when you don't want me."

"No, but I've got a spare room." She had won that round. House drove silently, glancing at the directions she kept very deliberately in his line of vision, knowing he had no idea where they were going.

Cuddy sung lightly to the music as House drove. She was thinking of Rachel, wondering if Wilson had fed her enough, put her to bed on time and held her when she needed it. Every time she called Wilson to check in House assured her he knew what he was doing. "Wilson's great with the ladies," House would say trying to help. It never did.

As House pulled into the airport's massive parking lot Cuddy was on the phone with Wilson. House pulled into the rental car area and screeched into a spot. He turned off the ignition, reached over and grabbed Cuddy's phone and without a word, switched it off. "You're going to see her in a few hours." He got out of the car, putting her phone in his pocket and popped the trunk. "Let's go or we'll miss our flight."

They were in no danger of missing their flight. It wasn't leaving for another hour and a half. House told her they didn't need to get there so early, that his limp and his cane would get them through the line in no time. He was right. Ten minutes after they walked into Hartsfield Airport they were being scanned by security.

Cuddy made it through with no problem, but House was called to a dark corner where he was rescanned. He had to take off his shoes and his coat. He had to empty his pockets and hand over his cane. Cuddy watched with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Yes they had plenty of time to kill, but this wasn't how she wanted to kill it. It wouldn't have been so bad if House didn't still have her phone.

House watched as one of the two security grunts turned the cane over in his hand. "It's got a sword in it."

The grunt's eyes grew wide and he looked mildly disappointed when it turned out House was lying.

"Oh, I was just kidding. It's my beating stick, if you know what I mean." House motioned toward Cuddy who had no idea what was being said, or why both security guards were looking at her with odd little smirks on their faces. She was used to that look from House.

"Why are you carrying two cell phones Mr. House?" The other grunt was riffling through House's coat pockets.

"One's hers. She tried to use it to call for help."

"Excuse me?" The guard looked at him oddly.

"Human trafficking. If I let the whores keep their phones they tend to use them to call for help."

The two guards looked once more at Cuddy who finally approached. "I'm sorry Ma'am, you can't enter." He held her back with one hand.

"I'm his wife. He's…" she leaned in and whispered, "unstable, without his meds. Don't listen to anything he's saying. He's just a harmless old fool."

"Yes, but he set off our monitor…"

"Because there is a metal tip at the end of his cane. He had it put on so his cane would make noise when he walks on hard floors." She pointed to the bottom of the cane. "Can we go now?"

The guard holding the beating stick took a look at the tip and saw the little piece of metal. It looked like a thumbtack stuck into the bottom of the cane. He handed it back to House. "You're all set." He nodded to the exit and watched the couple head off down the corridor.

"What do you think that tip is really for?" One of them asked the other with a smile. No one ever said their job couldn't be interesting.

"You rescued me." House said, all a flutter.

"Only because you still have my phone." And because she loved him, but she left that part out.

"I want the window seat." House said as they sat at the gate and waited for the plane to arrive.

"No, House. Whenever you sit in the window seat you constantly fidget and have to get up to go to the bathroom every time I get comfortable."

"Why do you think I want the window seat?" He smiled.

"Forget it. You got it coming down, I'm getting it on the way home. Now give me my phone." She held out her hand as if he might actually comply with her demands for a change.

"Come and get it," was his response.

Cuddy got up and searched for a pay phone.

The plane didn't arrive for another hour. Cuddy spent most of that time making baby talk into a pay phone. House spent it studying the array of people passing by. There wasn't much of note. There was an old man being left on a doorstep by his uncaring son and his family. At least the grandkids seemed sad to see him go. A young couple so clingy they couldn't possibly have known each other longer than the length of a weeklong vacation. As soon as they pretty blonde was on her plane, tall dark and handsome would be eyeing someone coming off another plane.

"House?" Cuddy was standing over him. "House. They just called out flight. We can board now." Cuddy pulled the daydreamer to his feet and they walked to the gate, House leaning on his leg more than was necessary. He did that when he needed the sympathy of others. The worse he made the pain look to outsiders the nicer they were to him and the more they were willing to bend rules for him.

The plane was empty as they boarded. Cuddy managed to get on the plane first, securing her position in the window. "Nicely played my dear," House teased as he eased himself into the exit row seat. Cuddy had requested it for the extra leg room. House appreciated that, though he didn't say. It was one of the nice things about Cuddy. He didn't have to say thank you, or please, or any of those niceties that people said not because they meant it but because it was necessary to prove they were good people.

"I know you were going to try to take it." Cuddy had known him well enough to never trust him at his word. House promised to let her have the window seat, which she knew meant he was going to try to get it first.

House had the freedom to get up and pee or pester the flight attendants as much as he wanted without disturbing Cuddy. Instead, he fell asleep. He slept most of the way home. The night before had been an active one and he hadn't gotten the rest he needed. Cuddy spent the flight going over the half year budgets.

They landed at Newark Intl. and rolled their luggage out to the sidewalk. Wilson was waiting in his Volvo. Cuddy could see the top of Rachel's head in the backseat. House could see her face light up when she saw the infant. He smiled, which even he found strange.

"How was the conference?" Though Cuddy had called him every two hours, she had told Wilson nothing about the CDC conference. Instead she had made him give her a play by play of Rachel's every movement and sound.

"I think I might have killed them all." House said with such regret that for a moment Wilson thought he was serious, until he followed up with, "I probably shouldn't have injected them all with a free sample of Abrams' Disease." He frowned then shrugged and got in the passenger seat. He figured Cuddy would want to be in back with Rachel.

He was right. Cuddy barely gave Wilson a hello before she reached into the car and pulled her daughter out. "Mommy missed you," she said in a sing song voice as Rachel cooed and gurgled and spit up a little on Cuddy's coat.

"She missed you too," House said with a snicker.

"So, how did it really go?" Wilson asked when they hit the road.

"They want to do some testing. I'll probably have to go back and present to the head of the CDC once they confirm that I'm not full of it." House knew he wasn't full of it. He wasn't after fame. He had just wanted an answer and when he couldn't find one he was lucky enough that making one up turned out to be right.

"Have you given any thought to rehiring 13?" Wilson had kept in touch with her, offering a shoulder to cry on and that sort of thing until Foreman put an end to it with a very thinly veiled threat along the lines of "stay away from my girlfriend or you'll be breathing out of your ass."

"Nope." House had given some thought to firing the rest of his team and starting fresh.

"Good. Wouldn't want you to do the right thing," Wilson said sarcastically.

"Has she been eating enough?" She expected Rachel to look bigger.

"She's eating just fine." Wilson sighed. He'd been asked about Rachel's eating habits a dozen times. Cuddy had only been gone for two days.

"She looks thin." Cuddy frowned.

"She looks the same." House replied.

"Has she been sleeping?"

"You mean the ONE night you were gone?" Wilson was losing his patience. He immediately felt guilty. "Yes, she slept fine."

"I know you don't want to face it Cuddy but other people are capable of keeping Rachel alive for two days."

"Shut up House." She pouted then turned her attention back to her daughter. "And you're not getting a new team." She remembered the comment he'd made a few minutes ago.

"We'll see about that." House loved a challenge, especially one that involved beating Cuddy at something.

Wilson felt the shift of energy in the air. The game was afoot.


	30. Tomorrow

**TOMORROW**

Rachel seemed happy to have her mother home. She cooed and cuddled in Cuddy's arms all night. House pouted for a while. "When are you putting that kid to bed?"

"An hour before I put you to bed," Cuddy said half covering Rachel's ears as if she understood.

"Oh, I get a whole hour," House wanted more than an hour though they both knew it wouldn't take that long. It was the principle of the thing.

"What was that Wilson handed you?" Cuddy had noticed the large stack of files Wilson gave to House before he left.

"You don't want to know."

"Resumes for the positions I'm not going to let you fill?"

"Oh, you'll let me fill any position I want." It sounded better in his head. He knew that as soon as she rolled her eyes. "I already fired 13, so I have to fill that position. Foreman has been begging to get out for months and Taub can make more money in his old job so I'm really doing him a favor."

"Foreman is too much like you to find work anywhere else and Taub chose to work for you for a reason."

"No one else would have him. And since when is PPTH the Hospital of Misfit Doctors?"

"Since any doctor worth hiring is going to get a job as far away from you as possible."

"You think I can't hire a competent doctor?" House thought about it for a moment. "Then why did you steal two of my castoffs?"

"I didn't steal anyone. And why do you think I make you hire a team?"

"It keeps me out of your hair." At least that's what she always told him.

"That's just a perk." Cuddy tended to forget about that now that they were a couple. "But it provides me with a crop of home grown junior House's." She shifted Rachel to her other hip. "I mean it when I say you are the best doctor I have, and to have you personally training promising young doctors is…"

"You're using me!" House liked the sound of that, though the reality left a lot to be desired. "I'm your doc mule."

"My what?" Cuddy had no idea what he was talking about.

"Doc mule; I transport fine young doctors to your hospital. Or would you prefer pimp?"

Cuddy thought about it for a moment. "Technically I think I'm the pimp. I get you to service new doctors that I can then hire for myself."

"Then that makes me your…"

"Bitch?" Her smile lit up the night sky.

"I was going to say whore." House looked defeated. He was her bitch, he had always been her bitch, he just didn't realize she knew it. "Now, shut up, I'm trying to pick a new team and you're distracting me."

"It's what I do best." Cuddy kissed him on the forehead then bounced off to Rachel's room for a diaper change.

"Yes it is," House confirmed quietly as she vanished. He liked having Cuddy around to distract him. He liked having her around period.

House was a man who liked his solitary life, on the surface. He liked being alone, so he said. He liked being able to drink from the carton and leave dirty dishes in the sink for a week and farting on the couch without apology. He was old and set in his ways.

After Stacy he swore he would never move in with a woman again. It had been a disaster from start to finish. The constant debating about everything from what to have for dinner to where to go on vacation was fun at first, House liked a little give and take, and the sex afterwards was amazing but Stacy was a lawyer, always. Every disagreement was turned into a court case and Stacy wouldn't give up until she won. It made her one of the best lawyers he'd ever seen, it also made her a crappy girlfriend.

Cuddy was different. She liked to argue, she liked to debate, but she wasn't as invested in winning as Stacy had been. The thing was, when it mattered, she fought to win, and when she did, he knew he should let her. Cuddy only fought to win when something really mattered, like House's life, her career, Rachel, her friends.

She seemed to understand House's need to win. She understood better than anyone. He always wondered what made her understand his needs so well. She had never had a crippling infarction. She had never been emasculated by a hole in her leg or incapacitated by crippling pain. Yet she seemed to know how badly he needed to be in charge of something, anything to make up for all that he had lost.

He knew she often let him win and he was okay with it. It was all a charade, a game they had played for years. She boosts his ego by letting him win and he boosts her ego by telling her she's hot. Of course, she was hot, so his part was easy.

"Hire that one." He hadn't heard her walk up behind him. He hadn't even noticed the open file in front of him.

"Why?" He asked suspiciously.

"He'll drive you nuts. That would make me happy." Cuddy smiled. She had left Rachel in her crib. It was way passed the baby's bedtime but Mommy had had a hard time letting her go until Rachel's body became dead weight in her arms. Then Cuddy finally took the hint.

She perched on the arm of the couch and leaned against House's shoulder. It felt so domestic, and so right. "I think I'll pass." House tossed the application in the trash.

"I think you won't." She leaned over and pulled it out and put it back on the pile. "Hire him and you can hire a whole new team. Don't and you only get to replace Hadley."

House watched her face carefully. She was hoping he would say no. "Okay." Would she never learn?

"Just like that?" She was startled.

"Just like that." House smiled up at her.

"You can't hire a new team House. You've only had this one for a year."

"Two years."

"A little more than a year," she conceded.

"Almost two years," he corrected.

"You have no grounds to fire Taub and Foreman." She didn't want law suits on her hands. She'd gotten lucky with Chase. He was too enamored with House still to file a wrongful termination suit.

"I'll get them to quit."

"Do I want to know how you're going to do that?" She was cringing already.

"As my boss? Definitely not."

"Are you doing this just to aggravate me?" She was starting to cave. He could always tell. It wasn't so much giving in to his demands as it was trying to see his side of it and making an assessment of the situation.

"No. Foreman doesn't want to be here. You know that. Firing him would be doing him a favor. If he hasn't learned everything he can from me by now, he never will."

She nodded. The argument made sense. "What about Taub?"

"Name one thing he has contributed to the team since he's been here."

"He has been as useful as any of them." Cuddy never really knew the details of who did what on House's team, and she preferred it that way. It was easier to plead ignorance in court than to lie on the stand if it came to that.

"He has seen two colleagues he was close to die in the matter of a few months. His marriage is hanging on by a thread. His finances are in ruins."

"And you think the best way to help him is to fire him?"

"If I fire him he can go back to plastics. If he goes back to plastics he can earn the kind of money he was making before; his financial troubles will go away, his wife will suddenly want to stay with him and he can drown his sorrows in the best cognac money can buy."

"So you're doing this for his own good?"

"Yeah, or because I want an all female team, think House's Angels."

"You can't."

House rolled his eyes dramatically. "Not that discrimination thing again?"

"I don't want discrimination groups sniffing around my hospital."

"What if I hire one black, one white and something in between."

"Just hire a guy House. This one. You don't even have to have him do anything. Just hire him, put him on payroll and have him sit in a corner. I don't care."

House picked up the resume again. "Why this guy?" House didn't see anything special in the resume. "Oliver Pike?" House made a face. Who names their kid Oliver Pike? "You didn't sleep with him or something did you?" House made an even bigger face. He did not want Oliver Pike's sloppy seconds. He looked at Cuddy's legs, crossed casually on the arm of the chair. There was nothing sloppy about Lisa Cuddy.

"NO!" Cuddy was horrified at the way House's mind worked sometimes. "His father works at the university. He came in for an interview a few weeks ago."

"Didn't get the job, obviously."

"He was over qualified. But I think he would be perfect for you." She smiled. "Hire him." She got up and headed to the kitchen to fix them a late night snack.

House poured over the rest of the options. Over two thirds of them ended up in the trash. Wilson just couldn't say no to anyone and clearly took every resume that was given to him. Cuddy was back in time for the narrowing down. She handed House a glass of scotch and put the bowl of popcorn between them. "Need help?"

"I need a back rub." House hadn't thought she would do anything about that, but he saw her motion him forward a little so he moved to the edge of the cushion. Then he felt her wrap her leg around him and slip down between him and the back of the sofa. He smiled as her hands started rubbing his shoulders gently. "Nice."

"So, who's left?" She looked into the trashcan which was now full of untouched sheets of paper. Some simple copier paper some fancier, heavier stock, meant to impress and failing miserably this time.

"I've got ten." House spread out the resumes as Cuddy's hands pushed deeper against his muscles. He sipped the scotch slowly, letting it melt into the muscles she was working on. The effect was Heaven.

"You can't keep them all." She rested her chin on his shoulder for a moment while she read what she could of the ten candidates.

"I know." House tossed another one in the trash.

"What was wrong with her?"

"She belongs to a church choir." House shivered.

Cuddy went back to massaging his shoulders slowly. "You can't dismiss her for that."

"I can if she's stupid enough to put it on her resume."

"Just…don't tell me the reasons anymore."

"You asked."

"And have come to regret it." Cuddy leaned over him and kissed his cheek.

House continued narrowing down the field until he ended up with six potentials. Five people he thought he could work with without wanting to blow his brains out and the guy Cuddy was forcing him to take. In the end he ended up with six potential new Fellows. Tomorrow he would have Wilson set up some interviews for him. Oh, and he had to get his old team to quit. Tomorrow was going to be a good day.


	31. Barbarism Begins at Home

**BARBARISM BEGINS AT HOME**

House's soon to be former team were sitting at the table playing cards. House watched them for a moment. "You're fired," he shouted.

"Who is?" Taub looked at him then at Foreman who looked equally annoyed and confused.

"Both of you are." House said as if it were painfully obvious.

"Why?" Foreman said, not having moved from his card playing position.

"For playing cards when you should be working."

"We have nothing to work on." Taub stated the obvious.

"I don't have time for your tired excuses. I've got to hire a new staff."

Foreman followed him into his office. "You can't fire me. Cuddy won't let you."

House thought for a moment. "True. So you'll have to quit."

"I'm not quitting." Foreman protested.

"Why not?" House couldn't figure out why he would want to stay. "You hate it here."

"I hate you."

"Is there a difference? You hate working for me, you're never going to get Cuddy's job if that's what you're waiting for. I don't care what she promised you, it's not going to happen. I fired your girlfriend, and your pal Marty would probably still offer you that cushy job in LA if you told him you were interested."

"That was almost three year ago."

"Yes, but I called him last night and told him I'd let you out of your contract for the right price."

"Let me out?"

"It sounds better. Makes you sound like you're in demand. Unless you'd rather I said I was trying to unload you." House shrugged.

"The more you want me gone, the more I want to stay and make your life miserable." Foreman had been miserable for five years at the hands of the man in front of him. It would be nice to be able to turn the tables a bit.

A slow smile spread across House's face. "You really think you can make me more miserable than I can make you?" He shook his head slowly. "Big mistake."

House turned and pretended Foreman wasn't hovering over him until Foreman finally walked away. Then he picked up the phone and paged Taub. A few minutes later he met him in an empty patient's room.

"What's this about? You gonna whack me or something?" Taub looked around for the hit man.

"No, I'm not gonna whack you." Damn. Why hadn't he thought of that? "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse." House tried his best Godfather impersonation. It wasn't half bad.

"Such as?" Taub was willing to hear what the man had to offer.

"I can get you your old job back, if you quit this one."

"Why would I want my old job back?"

"Don't make me fire you." House knew he couldn't, but Taub didn't know that yet.

"Why would you fire me?"

"Have you been to grief counseling?" House was reaching for straws.

"Have you?" Taub knocked them out of his hand.

"How do you feel about Bosley?" House had an idea, for just a second before he remembered that Taub had screwed a nurse at his last job. First it was Chase and Cameron, then Foreman and 13. House didn't want another relationship on his team. It was too distracting to those involved.

"What?"

"Nothing." House had already rethought the idea. "Your wife knows about the affair now, right? So there's no reason you can't go back to plastic surgery. She knows. The non-disclosure is null and void. The truth has been disclosed."

Taub thought about it for a moment. "But I like it here."

"WHY?" House was genuinely flummoxed by that. Why would anyone actually like working for him.

"I'm learning a lot."

"Learning is overrated."

"Why do you want me to quit?" Taub leaned against the wall, arms crossed to show he wasn't intimidated.

"I need a fresh start. A lot has happened with Amber, with Kutner," with himself, though he wasn't going to admit that to Taub. "Seeing you every day reminds me of what we've lost."

Taub was buying it up until that last statement. "Oh please. What's the real reason?"

"That would have worked on Cameron or Chase."

"I'm not Cameron or Chase. What's going on?" Taub was actually interested, and concerned. He liked House.

"I want to hire a team of hot chicks, piss off Cuddy."

"And you want me to risk my career as part of your foreplay?"

"Something like that."

Taub smiled as it finally dawned on him. "Bosley! Like Charlie's Angel's Bosley. You're Charlie."

"And my new team would be the Angels."

"I want in." Taub didn't even have to think about it.

"What?"

Taub smiled as the power shifted. "I'll help you get rid of Foreman if you let me take his spot."

House was impressed. "I'll have to think about it." It wasn't exactly his plan, but then, Foreman was supposed to quit more readily than he clearly intended to.

"Let me know tomorrow." Taub turned and left House dumbfounded. He hadn't thought the little Jew had it in him.

House was busy with paperwork all morning. It was the part of discovering a new disease he had forgotten about, the part he couldn't pawn off on a Fellow even if he weren't trying to get rid of them. He typed a few sentences in Word before drifting off to sleep. Living with Cuddy had had a detrimental effect on his sleep schedule. The woman was insatiable.

"Working hard?" The woman's voice rang in his ear like an alarm clock.

"What?" House's head flew up and he looked around. He was in his office. Cuddy was in that skirt, the one that held no secrets. "Hi." He smiled at her.

"Hi." She smiled back with amusement. He was quite adorable sometimes. "I wanted to see if you wanted to go get something to eat. Didn't realize it was nap time."

"I don't schedule my naps. They just happen."

She leaned over at looked at his mostly empty computer screen. "I can see that. I should let you get back to work."

"No." House jumped up. He hadn't realized he was so hungry until faced with the daunting task of writing his paper for the JAMA. "Lunch sounds nice." He grabbed his coat. "You're buying, right?"

Cuddy walked out shaking her head and knowing House was scurrying along behind her.

"How is Operation Quitters going?" House had named it that last night while basking in the afterglow.

"I've given it a lot of thought." House's mind was formulating a plan while his eyes scanned the menu. "And I'm willing to make a compromise."

"A what?" Cuddy looked up from her own menu in shock.

"A compromise: a settlement of differences by mutual concessions. I'm getting you a dictionary for your birthday."

"My birthday was two months ago."

"For your belated birthday." House compromised. "Anyway, I'm willing to keep one of my current team if I don't have to hire that Pike guy."

"You're hiring Oliver Pike, you're keeping Foreman…"

"Taub," House corrected.

Cuddy thought about it for a second and realized she needed to compromise as well. "You're keeping Taub, and you're hiring two new Fellows."

"Hot chicks. I'm hiring two hot chicks." House grinned.

The waitress came and took their orders.

"You can't hire based on appearance."

"Then how did you get your job?" House teased.

Cuddy was torn between annoyance and being flattered. House had a way of doing that to her. "Just hire someone soon. I have a case for you."

"So, you didn't just want to have lunch with me. You're trying to butter me up before you drop a bomb on me."

"It's not a bomb, it's a case. An interesting one. I think you'll like it." She pulled a folder out of her bag and slid it across the table.

"Oh my god, you brought it with you!" The woman had no shame. "But I can't take a case. I still have to work on the Abram's Disease paper, and run more tests and…"

"Do you like writing up papers and running tests you already know the results of?" She knew him well.

"I don't have much choice. I invented a disease." He hated those things. Once he'd diagnosed the disease he really had little interest in the follow up. But he didn't want to let her down, not again.

"You discovered it House. You're not God."

"That's not what you were shouting last night."

Cuddy blushed as the waitress put a plate down in front of her. She smiled nervously as the young woman hurried away. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" House innocently shoved a bite of steak in his mouth.

"You know what." She took a bite of her salmon and savored it for a moment before speaking. "Anyway, I spoke to a friend at the university about having some of their first year med students do your research for you. That would free you up to take on a new case." She nudged the folder she'd put on the table.

"Oh, you're good."

"I know." She smiled. "You told me repeatedly last night."

House grinned back. "That's my girl." He took the folder and flipped through it. Cuddy was right. It looked like an interesting case.


	32. Break Up the Family

**BREAK UP THE FAMILY**

House stormed into the diagnostics office after lunch and tossed two folders on the table, one slid off toward Taub and one toward Foreman. "One of you gets to keep your job." He announced importantly. "You each have identical case files for my new patient. The first one to figure out what is wrong with him gets to stay. The other contestant better update his resume." They stared at him, blinking with disbelief. "Go!" He said excitedly, expecting them to run off and try to win the right to stay.

Taub opened his folder as Foreman just sat there. "Taub takes an early lead," House play by played as Foreman glared and slowly opened his own folder.

Although each folder had the same number of scanned images the same quantity of test results, Taub's folder contained all the information on the patient of the week. Foreman's folder contained the same tests, but for a completely different patient.

"I'll leave you to it." House headed over to Wilson's office. He was just finishing up with a patient so House waited in the hall. It gave him a chance to spy on his team through the glass wall. They were talking quietly. House couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded like Foreman was trying to get Taub to work together. Taub wasn't having it. Good thing, too. If he showed Foreman his folder it was game over, before it really got started.

House had kept the original documents so he could work on the case. That's where Wilson came in. "I have a case." He stormed in after Wilson's patient had left and threw the file on the desk.

"Good for you." Wilson furrowed his brow, wondering how this was going to affect him.

"I gave it to Foreman and Taub."

"Even better." Wilson knew House hated actual work. He just liked solving puzzles.

"But you and I are going to figure it out first." House grinned. He rarely asked Wilson for his help. He manipulated it out of Wilson quite often, but he never outright said he wanted or needed it.

"I thought you'd still be working on the Abrams case."

"So did I. Cuddy got me out of it." House smiled proudly.

"I guess it pays to sleep with the boss, huh?"

"In ways you could never imagine." House wiggled his eyebrows.

Wilson threw his hands over his ears. "I do NOT want to hear about it!" He had had a nightmare not too long ago in which he was the voyeuristic extra in a Huddy porno. He hadn't been able to look her in the eye since.

"You asked."

"No I didn't." Wilson changed the subject by going over the patient files and throwing out ideas, all of which House shot down, all of which he knew House would shut down, but that didn't matter. House's mind was now too occupied with the case to brag about his love life.

Taub and Foreman had jumped into the spirit of the challenge. Each worked silently, keeping any discoveries to themselves, and running off to run new tests on the patient in turns. House remained with Wilson, watching the comings and goings of the two contestants in his little game.

"What are they doing now?" Wilson asked as House came back from a spy mission on the balcony.

"Foreman's alone. He's talking to himself."

"I've seen you do that."

"You're point would be?" House didn't like having himself compared to Foreman. Foreman was a humorless machine with delusions of grandeur. House had a sense of humor.

"He's going to win."

"No he's not." House hadn't yet told Wilson about the grand plan.

"Foreman's been with you longer. He knows how you think."

"Wanna make this interesting?" House was positively glowing. He always glowed a little when he found a way to separate Wilson from his hard earned money.

"Okay. I'll bet you twenty that Foreman wins your little competition."

"Only twenty? Is that how little faith you have in Foreman?"

"Fifty."

"A hundred." House smiled. Wilson took a long, deep breath. They shook hands and it was settled. House was already spending his prize money in his head.

"Hey, what are you and Cuddy doing tonight?" Wilson looked nervous all of a sudden.

"Having sex probably. Why?"

Wilson cringed with an internal ewe. "I wondered if you wanted to go out to dinner."

"Like a threesome?" House knew that sex talk about him and Cuddy bugged Wilson, so he did it every chance he got. "I'm not sure Cuddy has the stamina…"

"NO! Dinner, with me and Gabriella."

House raised an eyebrow. He had been off his game lately. "Who's Gabriella?"

"She works at The Bistro. Nice girl…"

"Legal?" House wasn't going to make assumptions with Wilson.

"Yes, she's legal!" Age wise. Gabriella DaCosta was from Brazil and she was hot and she needed a green card to stay in the country. Wilson was under her spell, and he needed House's help getting out from under it before she became the fourth Mrs. James Wilson. "Come to dinner, please."

"Why?" Wilson usually tried to keep his dates away from House until the wedding. It was safer that way.

"We're engaged." Wilson looked like he'd pooped his pants. He was a bizarre combination of guilt and discomfort.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute…"

"You were gone for six months House. Nobody knew when you'd be back."

"So you got engaged?" House didn't like where this conversation was going.

"I…she needs a green card."

"So you got engaged?" House repeated.

"I just wanted to help…"

"So you got engaged?"

"Stop saying that! Yes. I got engaged. And I like her. I really do, and I think our relationship could go somewhere but…"

"You want me to break you up." House could tell when Wilson was trying to use him.

"I want you to meet her and tell me if I'm crazy."

"I don't have to meet her to tell you that."

"House, please."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world." House smiled. "We'll meet you at the Ferry House."

"I suppose I'm paying?"

"Naturally." House pulled together his files and headed for the door. "And I'm getting the most expensive thing they have."

"Naturally."

House returned to his office. He had a few ideas he needed to test. He was about to call into the conference room when he remembered the competition. He had no one to run his tests for him. So he called Cameron.

"I don't have time to babysit for you House." She was standing in front of him with one foot tapping impatiently.

"I just need you to run a couple tests." He didn't back down.

"I don't work for you anymore."

"Do you want to?" He wasn't serious, not really, but he was curious to see her reaction.

She was going to say yes, just for a moment she was going to make the biggest mistake of her life. "I've got work to do." She turned and left House.

Determined not to run his own tests he called Cuddy. He told her it was an emergency so she left her meeting to rush to his office. When she saw him sitting at his desk playing his Game Boy or PSP or whatever that infernal thing was she turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" He asked, putting his DS down.

"Your emergency has clearly been taken care of. I'm going back to work."

"Afraid someone will steal your corner while you're gone?" He grinned. He knew that would get her.

"Yeah." She kept leaving. This wasn't going according to plan.

"We've got a dinner date tonight." He was trying to get her to stay and talk.

"I'm in the middle of a meeting." She did stop though.

"And I need someone to run these tests for me."

"I know tests can be tricky, but I think you can handle them all by yourself." She would pay good money to see him run his own tests for a change.

"But I don't want to." It was the simple truth.

"That's not my problem." She tried to leave.

"I can make it your problem." He grinned. There were so many ways he could make it her problem that she stopped in her tracks.

She walked over to him silently and grabbed the file out of his hands.

"I need an allergy test."

"Which one?" She groaned, hating herself for giving in to him.

"All of them."

Cuddy turned and huffed away. An hour later Taub came in and handed House his resignation.

"No." House shook his head as he looked at the letter. "What happened to helping me get rid of Foreman?"

"Cuddy made me a better offer."

House pushed passed Taub and stormed off to Cuddy's office.

"This was not our deal," he screamed waving Taub's letter in his hand.

"Did you think I was going to let you get what you wanted?"

"Yes." Any other thought hadn't even bothered to cross his mind.

"That's not how this works. It's my job to make you miserable. So now you're stuck with Foreman." She smiled sweetly. "Oh, and here are your test results." She handed him a piece of paper. "No allergies."

"We'll see about that." House turned to leave.

"You're going to make him allergic to something?" She misunderstood.

"Not that." He sighed and turned to face her. "I'm getting rid of Foreman whether you like it or not."

"Then you're taking Oliver Pike whether you like it or not."

Damn. House turned and stormed out. This was no longer about Foreman or Pike or a new team. It was about winning. House wanted to force her to give him what he asked for even if he had forgotten why he ever wanted it. This was a battle that he intended to win. He needed to prove to himself that he hadn't lost his edge around her. That being with her hadn't made him soft. He needed to win it because she had already won the war, better known as, his heart.


	33. I Like You

**I LIKE YOU**

The Ferry House was packed. It was the current hot spot, which was why House picked it; that and the knowledge that oysters got Cuddy in the mood. He intended to order a lot of oysters tonight. Despite the crowd, it wasn't hard to find Wilson and his fiancé. There weren't many middle aged men sitting next to young Latina bombshells. "Damn!" House said as his eyes slid down Gabrielle's sternum.

"You're a pig," Cuddy said shaking her head and sneaking a glance down at her own rack insecurely. House noticed and smiled, but didn't say anything. His mind was on the task at hand.

"Hi. You must be Gabrielle." House extended a hand and met hers for a shake. "Wilson doesn't want to marry you."

"HOUSE!" Wilson shrunk into his chair, horrified.

House looked down at him. "What did you think I was going to do?" He thought Wilson knew him better than that. "He invited me here to break up with you."

"No I didn't!" Wilson looked anxiously from his backstabbing friend to his horrified fiancé.

"Well, not break up then. He still wants the milk for free. He's just doesn't want to buy the cow at this time."

"Oh God." Wilson sunk lower in his chair, afraid to look at Gabrielle. He could feel Cuddy looking at him with a hint of distain. He knew why. He was getting exactly what he'd asked for, and he was an idiot for asking.

"Is this true?" Gabrielle didn't look as hurt as he thought she should. "I'm not trying to trap you into a marriage. I can get any guy to marry me." Both House and Wilson nodded while Cuddy looked at them with disgust.

"But I…" Wilson was rendered speechless. He didn't want to break up with Gabrielle. He just didn't want to marry her, at least not yet.

"I don't want to hear it." Gabrielle was getting up. Wilson looked at Cuddy for help. Cuddy stayed silent. He turned to House but quickly changed his mind.

"Please Gabrielle. I told you about House. This is just him being…him."

"I thought we had something special." She was on her feet, gathering her coat and bag.

"We did…we do." Wilson went running after her.

House turned to Cuddy. "Did you bring your wallet?"

"Why do you do that?" Cuddy picked up a menu. She wanted to hit him over the head with it, but instead she used it to shield him from her anger.

"Do what?" House was genuinely ignorant.

"You can't let anyone else make their own mistakes."

"See, you think Wilson was making a mistake."

"You missed the point."

"I got your point. I just don't see why stopping my friend from doing something stupid is such a bad thing."

She struggled to find a way to refute his argument. On the surface it wasn't a bad thing, protecting Wilson from himself, but it was the way House went about it.

"He'll be back. You'll see." House motioned over a waitress and ordered them both a drink. "How long have they been together?"

"He met her shortly after you…left."

"Went crazy you mean?"

She winced.

"And now he doesn't want to marry her." House was talking to himself more than Cuddy. She just happened to be there which helped keep him from looking like a crazy man babbling to himself.

"You think that has something to do with you?" Cuddy answered what he was thinking.

"Clearly you do." He felt her staring at him. She didn't have to say a word. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "Oh crap! I'll be right back." House got up and headed toward the front door.

He found Wilson sitting on a bench near the curb. Gabrielle was nowhere to be seen. "She gone?" House sat down beside his friend, if that's what Wilson still was.

"You know she is," Wilson sulked.

"You asked me to help call off the wedding."

"I…" Wilson realized there was no point arguing and just stopped.

The two men stared out into space, each trying to decide what to say.

"Would you have married her if I didn't come back?" House looked down at the tip of his cane.

Wilson looked off into the distance, shaking his head in disbelief. Then he turned to his friend. "You think this was about you? Are you really that full of yourself?"

"You get engaged to the first needy woman you meet after I leave and I'm not supposed to think it's about me?"

"I…" Wilson shook his head, still unable to believe what he was hearing. "The world doesn't revolve around you House. My world doesn't revolve around you." He never wanted to hit House so badly in his life. Well, maybe that one time, when House had cost him his job, or that time he had all his assets frozen by that crazed cop, or the time he got him arrested in Tijuana, but this was up there with those.

"Tell me three things you liked about her." House challenged him boldly.

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"No, you don't have to, but if you had an answer you would have given it to me."

Wilson was shaking his head back and forth. "You make it really hard to be your friend sometimes."

House answered with a barely audible "I know."

"Okay, so I didn't know everything there was to know about her."

"Or anything," House mumbled.

"But I know she is a nice girl who needed my help."

"She didn't need YOUR help. She needed help. You heard her, anyone would have done. But YOU needed to help her. It's what you do. And I wasn't around to feed your need so you grabbed onto the first needy person you found."

"It wasn't like that," Wilson protested unconvincingly.

"And as soon as I came back you want to get rid of her."

"I didn't want to get rid of her," he didn't sound any more convincing than before.

"And you had me do your dirty work."

"You arrogant bastard!" Wilson stood up, ready to flee as soon as he got in the last word. "I wanted your help."

"And I gave it to you." House really didn't get it. He did what Wilson wanted him to do.

"You sabotaged my relationship. I thought…I thought now that you were finally with someone maybe I could have a stable relationship but no, you have to…"

"You think I'm the reason you have three failed marriages?"

"I think you're the reason I don't have anyone else in my life. I don't have time. I had friends while you were gone. I met a woman. I fell in love."

"That wasn't love."

"You don't know what it was House. You weren't here."

"That's what this is about? You're paying me back for leaving?" House thought Wilson was better than that.

Wilson threw up his hands. "For the last time House, this is NOT about you!"

"It's about you Wilson. It's about your need to fix everyone else's problems but your own."

"I don't have any problems, other than my choice in friends."

"Exactly." House looked self satisfied. "Don't you think that is a problem?"

"I give up." Wilson turned and headed back into the restaurant. He couldn't leave Cuddy stranded like that. He wasn't House.

"If you were trying to avoid me you probably shouldn't have returned to the table my girlfriend is sitting at." House met up with him at the table. He didn't even notice Cuddy's beaming smile when he called her, out loud, in a room full of people, his girlfriend.

"Just sit down." Wilson really had given up. House was painfully right about everything. He didn't know Gabrielle at all. He had panicked and tried to find someone to replace House. He hadn't realized just how much of his life had been occupied with House and House's problems and House's issues until House wasn't there.

It had been different when Amber died and Wilson left town. He hadn't had time to realize how much he missed House. He was too busy grieving. He was, for once, tending to his own needs. He tried to remember how that felt. It had hurt. He never wanted to feel that way again.

When House left, well, that hurt too. He had lost his friend for who knew how long. He worried that House would be different when he came back, or that he would have to remove himself from his old life, start fresh. Even worse, maybe he would wake from his drug induced haze and realize he didn't want Wilson in his life anymore.

Wilson panicked, and House was right, he latched on to the first person he could find, the first person who needed help, the first person he could focus on to avoid looking at how truly empty his own life was. And now she was gone, House was back, and everything should be back to the way it was, only it wasn't and he didn't know how to fix that.

"I think I'll have the surf and turf." House said, looking over the menu. "Oh, look, they have baked oysters." He pointed to them on Cuddy's menu.

"So," Cuddy looked at both men. "You're just going to pretend that nothing happened?"

"Yep," House answered quickly.

"Yeah," Wilson nodded sadly.

Cuddy opened her mouth to speak. There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to hit them both in the back of the head. She wanted to tell them to grow up. She wanted them to go back to the way they used to be. It was hard to see the change if you were a casual observer. She doubted anyone else even bothered to look, but she saw it. It was a small change; a shift in their dynamic.

She didn't understand what it was, but the simple truth was, House didn't need Wilson anymore and Wilson knew it. Wilson had always been House's enabler, his drug supplier, his crutch, but House didn't need a crutch anymore and Wilson needed to be needed. It was, so they both thought, the glue that held them together. But it was gone now, and they were still together but unsure what their roles were now in each other's lives.

They all three ate their dinner amid casual chatter about work and sports and how big Rachel was getting and the fact that she almost said 'Mama' the other day. They all skirted gracefully around what had happened with Gabrielle though both Cuddy and House kept watching Wilson carefully, assessing the damage.

It wasn't until Cuddy and House got home that she let him have it. "I can't believe you did that to him." She was struggling to get her arm out of her jacket.

"He'll get over it." House didn't want to argue about it. Cuddy wouldn't understand.

"You haven't changed at all." She wouldn't have said that if she'd been thinking clearly, but the slight buzz of alcohol paired with her never ending frustration at the way House treated Wilson had gotten the better of her.

He felt hot anger rising inside him. "I told you, this is the only me you get. If you don't like it…"

She stopped him, putting her hand on his arm and looking into his pained face. "I love you House. I always have. And I'm not going to stop loving you just because you're acting like a jerk. If that's all it took, I would have been gone long ago."

"Then why are you yelling at me?" House was slightly confused.

"One, I'm not yelling at you, yet." The irony of her voice rising to a yell-like pitch was lost on her. "And two, just because we're together now doesn't mean I'm not going to call you out when you're acting like more of a jackass than you usually do."

"So you're going to try to keep me in line?" He asked playfully, taking a step closer.

She took a step back. Close proximity wasn't a good idea when she was mad at him. ""I've been trying for years."

"And yet, I haven't changed." House took another step closer. "Which is interesting because I've never known you to fail at anything."

"Are you saying I have the power to control you?" She let a smile slip out, but erased it quickly. She was supposed to be mad at him.

House snorted. "Please, no one can control me. But that wouldn't stop you from trying. Unless…you like me the way I am."

Cuddy looked toward the other room, silently begging Rachel to start crying and save her from this conversation. The house was silent.

"You do!" House's face lit up. It had never occurred to him that she might actually like him. He'd never thought it remotely possible that someone who craved order and rules as much as Cuddy would actually like him because he was unpredictable and difficult rather than despite it. "You like me just the way I am."

"Not all the time," she threatened.

"How about now?" he asked hopefully.

"Not so much."

He stepped closer and ran his finger along her arm. "Now?"

"Less with every step." She took a step back.

"Now?" He stepped forward and caught her with his hand, keeping her from retreating.

"No." She pouted. It was a sign that they were playing now. He knew that sign well.

He pulled her toward him and pressed his lips against her neck. She could feel him mouth the word 'now', felt his breath brush against her skin and felt a chill of pleasure wash over her. She nodded silently.

Their lips met shortly after that in a crash of passion and urgency. Clothes flew across the living room as two bodies, pressed together tightly, inched their way toward the couch as one, sweaty, panting creature. Arms and legs flailed through the air as they crashed down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.

"If that kid starts crying…" House threatened until Cuddy cut him off with her lips.

"Shut up House," she mumbled into the cavern of his mouth.

"Shutting up," he mumbled back as his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra.

Rachel must have sensed his threat because she remained sleeping soundly in her crib. She successfully ignored the grunts and groans that came from the room down the hall. She even slept through her mother's cries of pleasure as that tall man who tried to avoid her grunted in short, loud bursts. She rolled over in her crib, dreaming about the day she would be able to reach the top of the table where Mommy kept the cookies.

House collapsed beside his girlfriend, his arm wrapped around her moist shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath. "You know, with the right equipment, you probably could control me." He turned his head to look at her, her naked body glistening in the overhead light that shined down brightly on them.

"What equipment did you have in mind?" She smiled, thinking she had some idea what was going on in his usually dirty mind.

"You'll find out soon enough," he teases. He could kill two birds with one stone, buy Cuddy a present and make up to Wilson by taking him to one of his favorite stores, The Pleasure Chest.


	34. The World if Full of Crashing Bores

**THE WORLD IS FULL OF CRASHING BORES**

House strolled into Wilson's office as if the night before had never happened. It took him all of two seconds to realize that Wilson had not forgotten. That might make a normal person leave, or even apologize, but House was not normal so he sat on the small soft that faced Wilson's desk and watched him work.

Wilson did his best to ignore the very hard to ignore man and succeeded for almost ten whole minutes. "What do you want?" He finally couldn't take the slow, methodical tapping of the cane's thumb tacked bottom.

A million snarky answers flashed through House's head, but even he, socially inept as he was most of the time, knew that this was not the right time for snark. He really didn't want to lose Wilson again. "I need you to come with me. No questions." He could tell that Wilson was about to ask where, but he wanted it to be a surprise.

"Why would I go anywhere with you right now?" Wilson was still mad. He was mad at himself. He had set last night up. He had made it happen. It was just easier to direct his anger at House. House could take it. He always did. House was the ultimate fall guy.

"Because I'm going to buy you something special." House's eyes twinkled. He already knew exactly what he was going to get him.

"With your own money?" Wilson couldn't help it. He was intrigued.

"Hard earned under the undulating body of Doctor Lisa…"

Wilson's hands flew to his ears. "I don't want to hear it!"

"So you're in?"

Wilson sighed heavily. "Despite everything I know about you, yeah, I'm in."

"After work. Parking garage. Be there." House left with the closest thing to a skip he could manage without actually changing the way he limped.

House's next stop was to check on his team of one. Foreman wasn't there. House paged him. In the meantime, he went to his office to prepare for his first interviewee.

Lauren Spencer was three minutes early. She entered his office with the confidence of a former pageant girl, which was what she was, and the main reason House had consented to meet her. She had the potential to be hot. She wasn't.

Her hair was too poofy, her teeth were too white and she smiled too much. "I'm afraid this isn't going to work out," House said before she'd had a chance to sit down.

"But we haven't even spoken yet." She sat down anyway. House was almost impressed.

"Don't need to." House wasn't impressed enough to carry on with this charade.

"Don't you want to discuss my qualifications?" She shoved a pink tinted piece resume at him. He let it fall onto his desk without looking at it.

"Not particularly." House was now playing Minesweep on his computer.

She didn't take the hint. At least she was persistent. "I recently finished an internship with Doctors Without Borders. I was stationed in…"

"You do realize this interview is over, right?" House stared at her with his most menacing stare.

Lauren eventually left and was replaced by a petite blonde wearing a lot of pink. "Dr. House?" She came in, cocked her head to the side cloyingly and held out one hand. "I'm Dr. Chloe Mitchell." Just the way she said it, in a high, sing-songy little voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

House looked up at her. He looked around his office, over his shoulder, under his desk. "Are you talking to me?"

"You're Doctor Gregory House. I recognize you from that article about Abrams Disease. That was really impressive."

House laughed. "I get that a lot." He got up and made a point of showing her he wasn't wearing a lab coat. "I'm just the IT guy. Dr. Cuddy sent me in here to put a parental lock on House's computer. He's been downloading web porn left and right."

Chloe blushed. "I'll just wait here then."

"Suit yourself." House left. He headed down to the lobby where he realized he could assess the candidates as they walked in the door.

Oliver Pike wasn't due for another half hour but House had his PSP with him, so he didn't mind waiting.

As the half hour slowed to an end House became more aware of the comings and goings. He had his eyes open for some eager, bright eyed legacy in his father's suit and a shiny new briefcase. What he saw instead, standing in the doorway, surverying the lobby was a young guy with tossled hair, baggy jeans and a tee shirt with a dragon airbrushed on it.

The guy looked around, clearly searching for something. House nodded toward the directory posted on the wall next to him. The kid came over. "You're Dr. House aren't you?" He looked at the directory as he spoke.

"That's me." House would have denied it if he'd known what was coming next.

"I'm Oliver Pike. My dad is forcing your boss to force you to hire me." He sat on the bench beside House.

"That so." House tried to maintain his cool. He didn't like being blindsided. And who besides him shows up for an interview in a graphic tee?

"It's what my father told me just before "Don't screw it up!" He thinks very highly of me." Oliver was assessing House visually. House could feel it, so he assessed back. Pike was an attractive young man, tall, slender, disheveled. Much like House was when he left college, only without the frat boy aura Pike seemed to have.

"That makes two of us," House said sardonically.

"Well, this is going well, don't you think? So, do we do a proper interview or is this it?"

"I've got someone interviewing in my office right now. Mind if we do it here?"

Oliver looked at him with confusion. "Who's interviewing in your office?"

"Doesn't matter. Her daddy didn't tell my mommy to pick her, so she's not getting the job. She just hasn't figured it out yet."

Oliver snorted. "Well, good thing my dad has no problem exploiting his power then." He was wondering if she was cute.

"Good thing." House had intended on getting rid of Oliver in such a way that the boy would flat out refuse to take the position no matter how much is father pressured him, of course, that was back when he thought the guy actually wanted the job and wasn't being forced into it just like House was. "Can you start now?"

"Now?" Oliver looked at his watch. "But it's lunch time."

"See you tomorrow morning Junior." House got up and headed toward Cuddy's office. It would probably do him some good to make her think she'd won.

"I hired your guy." He announced walking in, unannounced.

"Good for you." She looked up from a report she was reading.

"Good for you. I'm sure you're getting something out of this little deal."

"I am." She wasn't going to tell him what though. It was more fun this way. She also knew he wouldn't ask, preferring to snoop around to find the answer. "How are the rest of the interviews going?"

"Every idiot with a medical degree wants me to hire them." He pulled a pencil out of her pencil holder and fiddled with it before dropping it back into place.

"You've got quite a reputation." She smirked.

"Not as good as yours." He had walked around to the back of her desk and rested on it casually, inches from where she sat. The view from up there was breathtaking.

"Leave my reputation out of it." She wrinkled her nose at him playfully.

"Not a chance."

She went back to work, hoping he'd leave but he didn't. He leaned on her desk, watching her work. She pulled a folder out from under him with a grunt. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Nothing better, no." He shook his head.

"No people to see, dreams to destroy?"

House looked at his watch. "Not for another ten minutes."

Ten minutes later he left. A quick walk past his office showed him that perky little blonde was still there. He groaned and walked in.

"Oh." Chloe jumped. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me." House walked over and sat at his desk.

"Is Dr. House coming?" She turned and looked at the door.

House sighed. "I am Dr. House you idiot!"

Chloe laughed nervously. "I did think it was you. I'm just so nervous." She laughed again. "I'm afraid we've gotten off on the wrong foot."

"We haven't gotten off on any foot. But feel free to get to your feet and get off my chair and out of my office."

"I left my resume on your desk. Give me a call to reschedule." She smiled, held out her hand for a goodbye handshake that never came, turned and left with a bounce that showed she had no clue what had just happened.

House rolled his eyes and tossed the pink paper into the trash. He heard someone walk in and without looking up uttered, "please be someone with half a brain."

"I've got a whole brain. I hope that doesn't disqualify me." Lexa Chen flashed a confident smile. "Hello Dr. House."

"Mei?" House looked up slowly, surveying familiar territory.

"It's Lexa." She studied his face carefully. He'd aged, a lot.

"What are you doing here?" House felt his palms starting to sweat.

"Remember when I told you I was working my way through Med School?" He nodded, his mouth hung slightly open, threatening to let a little string of drool make its way down his chin. "I meant it." She passed him her resume.

Lexa Chen, House's mind flipped through the pages of his memory and found some rather pleasant ones about the girl he called Mei. She'd told him that was her name. He would have realized it was her working name if he'd given it that much thought.

"I'm not sure…"

"Is this going to be a problem?" She had hoped not. It was a long time ago.

"No. No problem at all." House was already full of ideas. "In fact, you're hired."

Lexa startled. "Just like that?"

"Did you want it to be harder?" House tried not to grin like a 12 year old perv.

She looked disappointed. "You didn't offer me the job just so you could make constant sexual references did you?" She wouldn't stand for that.

"You want the truth?"

"Yes." She didn't know him that well.

"I'm offering you the job because I'm screwing my boss, and she is going to be sooooo jealous if I hire someone I used to sleep with."

"I don't remember you being this big a jerk."

"You didn't know me well." House smiled.

After some haggling House had his second team member, and revenge on Cuddy for making him take that Pike kid.

A series of candidates never made it passed the front door. House escorted Lexa out, hoping Cuddy would just happen to catch them together, which she didn't, and decided to stalk his prey. The next candidate through the door was a nervous, pimply nerd who was easily chased away by a story of how Dr. House likes to make his Fellows give him frequent prostate exams.

The next was an older man, twitchy and greasy. House bribed the hospital security guard to 'arrest' him and escort him out of the building. He doubted the guy would be back. After that was a rather bland looking woman, not young, not old, not pretty, not ugly, just there. House walked up to her, introduced himself, nodded to the passing Wilson, gave him a little wink, then asked her if she was into threesomes. She left rather quickly.

Sophie Taylor was late. Sophie Taylor's resume was full of holes. House had only called her in because Wilson had put a star on her resume. She had hand delivered it apparently, and Wilson had been impressed. House could see why.

Sophie oozed sex. She was long and slender with just the right balance of T and A. She was dressed to highlight the T slightly more than, but not to the detriment of the A. House was mainly an A man, but he did not object to T exposure, ever. "Hello," he said excitedly.

"Hi, I'm Sophie Taylor." Sophie extended a long, bare arm and took his hand.

"House…Dr…Greg House." He sucked back the drool that threatened to escape.

"Shall we go to your office?" She was still holding his hand. Her other hand was gently creeping up his arm.

"I can't hire you." He blurted out.

"Excuse me?" She looked stunned. For just a moment the mask of perfection fell from her face.

"I can't hire you," House said slowly with emphasis on each word.

"Why not?" She tried to pout but she didn't do it nearly as well as Cuddy. The spell was broken.

"Sexual harassment," House said pointedly.

"I won't sue you." She misunderstood.

"Not me, you." He looked pointedly at her hand, which was up on his bicep now. She was standing very close to him and her breasts were shoved up in his face.

She stepped away. "You would sue me for sexual harassment?" She had never come across that before. Most men were too busy trying to undress her with their eyes and sometimes their hands.

"Yep." He broke free from her grasp. "It goes both ways sweetheart." He took another step back.

"Well, I never!" She was furious. He was pretty sure this was the first rejection she had ever gotten, at least from a straight man or gay woman as the case may be.

"And you never will." House watched her storm off, part of him regretting the missed opportunity. Then he glanced over and noticed Cuddy just coming out of her office with some kid and his parents and realized that he didn't regret it as much as he thought.

Christine Noble was his last interview of the day and she was far too good to want to work for House. She had attended Johns Hopkins. She had gotten the prestigious internship House had failed to get ten years before her. She had played a vital part in a recent breakthrough in the fight against AIDS. "Why the hell do you want to work for me?"

"I want to improve my diagnostic skills. You know diagnostics better than anyone." She spoke directly, with intent. He found her focus slightly intimidating.

He looked at her resume again. She did tend to change jobs frequently. "Are you a bored genius?"

"Something like that." She waited quietly, confident enough to not fill the void with chatter.

"You could have any job you want."

"I want this job." She could see her was unsure. "I don't need the money, or the prestige. I want to learn from the best and you are the best."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

She smiled. It was a disarming smile, probably because he wasn't sure she was capable of it. "I don't want to get everywhere. I just want to get on your team."

"Do you usually get what you want?"

"Not always." She answered very honestly. House was impressed. Most candidates would say yes, to prove that they had drive, to show him they were competitors. Her simple, honest answer showed a confidence they would never have.

"Welcome to the team." House held out his hand and she shook it.

House hung a theoretic 'closed' sign on his door and sunk down into his special message chair for a rest. It had been a long day.


	35. Have a Go Merchant

**HAVE A GO MERCHANT**

Wilson headed straight for the video section and started flipping through the DVDs. House walked over and looked at one of the covers. "I interviewed her today."

"You did not!" Wilson wanted to believe him. He desperately wanted to believe him.

"No, but how cool would that have been?" House took the DVD from Wilson and put it back on the shelf. "I interviewed a prostitute."

"Did she have to take an oral exam?" Wilson laughed embarrassedly.

"I wish."

"You're serious." It took Wilson a while, but eventually he figured it out.

"Her name is Lexa Chen and she's hooooot."

"Does Cuddy know?" Wilson took the DVD from the shelf and carried it as he followed House down the aisles.

"No, but it's going to be fun when she finds out." House picked up something leather and strappy and turned it every which way before shaking his head and putting it back on the shelf.

"It's a harness." Wilson looked around nervously, hoping no one he knew was there.

"I know what it is," House lied, wanting to seem more worldly in these matters than he actually was.

"You said you were going to buy me something." Wilson was still holding the DVD expectantly.

"My needs first. Then yours." House was flipping through a rack of outfits. Naughty Nurse, Naughty Schoolgirl, Naughty Cop. "You don't mess with a winning formula."

"Is it a winning formula?" Wilson mumbled.

"What size do you think Cuddy is?" House pulled out a Naughty French Maid costume and held it up to Wilson's chest.

"I don't know," Wilson sighed. "You really think she'd wear that?" He was mildly interested in the answer.

"Only one way to find out." House smiled and draped the outfit over Wilson's arm. "Now for restraints!" House giddly hobbled over to the handcuffs. "Pink fur?" He help up a pair with distain, shook his head and put them back.

"I really, really don't want to know this much about your sex life House." Wilson already dreaded the nightmares he was going to have tonight.

House found a pair of handcuffs he liked, and a few other toys, all of which he piled into Wilson's arms.

"Your way of apologizing for driving off my girlfriend is to invite me to a sex shop to act as your pack mule? Interesting. I don't remember that chapter in the friendship handbook."

"You can't find genius like this in a book." House tossed a tube of something Wilson didn't want the details on into Wilson's arms and kept going. "Ah! I found your new girlfriend." House lit up and hurried into the next aisle. He returned to Wilson with a tall, leggy blonde in his arms. "She's perfect for you. She's needy, quiet and easy."

"She's made of plastic and needs to be blown up." Wilson spread his arms and dropped all House's crap onto the floor. "I'm leaving."

"Oh, come on Wilson." House looked at his pile of goodies and at Wilson's retreating form. He couldn't bend over and pick all that up so he went after Wilson. "You didn't love her." House caught up with him at the door. He put his cane across it, barring Wilson's exit.

"You don't get to decide that House. You don't get to choose who I see and who I don't."

"You're the one who invited me to dinner. You're the one who told me you wanted to call off the wedding. You set the whole thing up so you would get what you wanted without being the bad guy. The thing is, you're just as bad as me. You just hide it better."

"Don't hold back House, tell me how you really feel." Wilson turned to walk away.

"You want to know how I really feel?" House felt himself about to tell Wilson how he really felt. "I feel like I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and your co-dependency."

"You wouldn't be in a porn shop if it weren't for me?" Wilson's usual light tone was missing.

"I wouldn't be here." House moved his arms around. "God, you're going to make me say it aren't you?" House flailed around in disbelief. "Fine. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you. I wouldn't have gone to Mayfair and I'd probably be belly up on some slab in some coroner's office if it weren't for you."

"You went to Mayfair for Cuddy, not me."

"I went because you made me realize it was the only way I could have any semblance of a life with her."

"I didn't think you were listening." Wilson smiled despite himself.

"Oh, shut up!" House turned and tried to pick up the French Maid costume with handle of his cane.

"Get out of the way." Wilson knew House was being especially inept because he wanted Wilson to step in and do the work, but he also understood that that was his role in their relationship, he was House's keeper and apparently, that wasn't going to change any time soon.

"That's a no on Rita then?" House picked the blow up doll up off the floor.

"Don't push it House." Wilson walked over to the counter and dumped House's purchase. "You want to buy me something, there's a bar two doors down. You can buy me a drink."

"Are you trying to get me to get you drunk?" House teased as he told the girl at the counter to gift wrap his items.

"Yeah, that's my plan." Wilson deadpanned.

They dropped House's bags in the car before heading over to the bar.

"Come here often?"

"When I'm in the neighborhood." Wilson had a thing for edible panties and The Pleasure Chest had the best selection in town.

"See, that's why I'm friends with you."

"Because I slum in the seedy part of town?"

"Yes!" House enjoyed slumming as a spectator sport and Wilson was his favorite slum buddy. House would never take Cuddy to a bar like this. Half dressed, mostly drunk women hung off of guys who didn't even look good through beer goggles while a group of overweight, over-aged bikers played a cheaters game of pool and some stoned chick was dancing with the juke box. It was House heaven.

"This place is great." House looked like a kid in a candy store.

"Only you would find this place great." Wilson pushed his way to the bar and ordered two beers. It was the only safe bet in a joint like this.

They found a relatively quiet corner to drink and observe.

"So, things are going good, with you and Cuddy?" Wilson was on his second beer now, and ready to talk girl talk.

"In all the time you've known me, have I ever wanted to talk about my relationships?"

"Are you kidding House? You brag about your hook ups all the time."

"Hook ups Wilson. Not relationships."

"So it's serious." Wilson smiled and nodded. The idea of his two friends getting it on with costumes and props made him cringe but the idea of his two friends in a relationship made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Ik spreek niet over dit."

"What?" Wilson wasn't sure if he'd heard wrong or had too many drinks already.

"I figured you didn't understand me the first time." House was watching a paunchy middle aged man chatting up a girl who probably hadn't gotten into the bar legally. He picked up his phone and dialed quickly.

"What did you say the first time?" Wilson got a long index finger as a reply while House reported a crime at The Blue Moon Bar.

"I'm not going to talk to you about Cuddy. Pick a new topic."

"Will you talk to me about your new team?" Wilson did. He knew there was no point in doing otherwise.

"Sure, but I don't know why you'd want to."

"Because you have a hooker on your team. Why wouldn't I want to talk about a hooker?"

"It's no one you know."

"What are the other two, a porn star and a stripper?"

"You wish."

"Yeah, I do. Your office is right next door to mine."

"Typical Wilson, always thinking of yourself."

"That's rich coming from you."

After the banter House described his three new team members as The Hooker, Cuddy's Brat and The Genius.

"You actually hired someone as smart as you are?" Wilson was surprised. He knew House liked to feel intellectually superior to everyone around him.

"Smarter, or so she claims. We'll see about that." House did like a challenge. "Now I just have to get rid of Foreman."

"I just heard that he got offered a job at Presbyterian."

"Did he?" House smiled.

Realization slowly swept over Wilson. "How'd you…"

"I didn't. But I happen to know a rather hot hospital administrator who used to date the Chief of Medicine over at Presbyterian." House was grinning from ear to ear. He had won this round.


	36. My Love Life

**MY LOVE LIFE**

Wilson dropped House off around midnight. He refused House's offer to come in for a nightcap. "Cuddy would kill me." It was true, so House let it go. Besides, that just meant he could get on with his little plan that much sooner. The lanky, slightly buzzed doctor gathered his bags and stumbled to the door. He fumbled with the lock while Wilson sat in the car, waiting to see if Cuddy had finally come to her senses and had the locks changed. She hadn't, and in a minute, House was gone.

The house was quiet. She hadn't waited up. House frowned. That wasn't part of the plan. Now he was going to have to wake her up and then she'd be grumpy and he'd have to do more to get her in the mood.

He walked quietly down the hall; not using his cane for fear the familiar tapping would wake her. He pushed open the door slowly. She was lying on her side of the bed, one arm stretched out toward his pillow. Perfect.

Wrapping his 'toys' had sounded like a good idea at the time but now he was cursing under his breath as he tried to quietly unwrap the one he thought were the handcuffs. It took two tries but he found what he was looking for.

She stirred a little as he pulled the cardboard backing off the package. He froze, waiting for her to wake up and yell at him, but she didn't. She just turned onto her side a little. That would work.

House crept around the edge of the bed and gently placed his fingers on her wrist. She didn't move so he quietly slipped one end of the Japanese wrist cuffs over her hand and gently pulled her arm up over her head, his eyes not leaving her face, watching for any sign that she might wake. Growing confident in his success he slowly, carefully lifted her other arm up over her head. She looked like an angel, sleeping so soundly, so trustingly as he looped the silk rope around a spoke in the headboard and slipped the other end on her other wrist. She stirred gently, but he kissed her cheek lightly and made soothing noises that seemed to pacify her.

She was in a nightgown. He realized now that he should have gotten her out of it before tying her to the bed, but that ship had sailed, so he slipped his hands beneath it, sliding the light cotton fabric slowly up her thighs. She kicked out her leg and tried to swat away whatever it was that was tickling her. That's when she realized she couldn't move her arms. "What? HOUSE!" She pulled at the wrist cuffs with frustration.

"I know what you did." He smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her and looking down at her helpless form.

"I didn't do anything." She protested, trying to twist her wrists loose of their restraints. "Untie me."

"Now, why would I do that?" House ran a finger down her helpless arm and she shivered.

"Because I'll fire you if you don't." It was the first thing she could think of. She regretted it as soon as she said it.

"That's a lot of chutzpah for someone tied to a bed." House lifted the nightgown up over her hips slowly.

"You can't keep me here forever House." Her voice was menacing.

"Wanna bet?" House grinned. He knew he couldn't keep her there forever, eventually he'd get hungry and need her to make him something to eat, but for now it was fun to pretend.

"House," she struggled as she pleaded.

"So, I was thinking, you were right, I'm going to keep Foreman on the team." He was watching his finger as it slid slowly over her porcelain skin.

"Who told you?" Foreman wasn't officially resigning until tomorrow. There was only one way House could have known. "It was Wilson."

"If you knew the answer, why did you ask?"

"And you think I had something to do with it?" She was slowly putting the pieces together.

"I know you did." House pulled her nightgown up to her waist, revealing the fact that she wasn't wearing pants, of course he knew that already, but it was nice to have visual confirmation.

Cuddy shifted uncomfortably. She felt more exposed than if she had been naked. Perhaps it was knowing where House was focusing that made her feel vulnerable, but it was most likely the fact that she was tied up and couldn't stop him from touching her in any way he wanted.

"Foreman couldn't have gotten that job on his own." He leaned over and kissed her inner thigh.

"He's a good doctor," she protested, not that convincingly.

"Yeah, but he's not great." House slowly parted her legs. He was pleased to see how easy it was to do.

"That doesn't mean I got him the job. If you'll recall, I didn't want him to leave." She had no idea what a bad move that was.

"I know. And yet you did it anyway." He slid his hands slowly, painstakingly along her inner thighs. He knew the slow pace which was agony for him to do was even more agonizing for her, so he didn't pick up his pace until he reached his goal.

"And what is this? My reward?" She was pretty sure it wasn't.

"You think being tied up is a reward?" House leaned over and kissed the light tuft of hair between her legs, ignoring her protests.

"I do not…that's not what I meant…" she struggled to free her arms to no avail.

"You're the best girlfriend ever." House said, pulling her night gown up over her head. He chuckled as she started cursing and trying to shake it off. "Relax."His hands slid up her body, over her gently sloping hips, into the valley of her waist and finally over the swell of her soft, tender breasts where they remained, gently massaging her sweet mounds. "I thought you wanted your reward."

"I want…" she might have wanted to finish her sentence but the sudden sensation of House's tongue sliding not quite into her, but tantalizingly close to it, stopped her words in her throat and replaced them with an unauthorized moan.

"You want what?" House asked, sliding his finger up and down her lips, making them moist.

"I want you to take this nightgown off my face," she spat out quickly before he elicited another moan from her lips.

House stretched one long arm over her and pulled the nightgown down to her chin. "Better?"

"Much."

"Can I get back to what I was doing now?" He had stopped moving his finger and let it rest gently against her.

She tried not to smile. "Yes."

"You know," he said casually as he started stroking her softly, "you make it very hard to torture you."

"Is that what you're doing?" She lifted her head enough to look down the length of her own bare body and glare at him.

He looked up from between her legs. "Yes." He felt a little deflated. She was smiling at him, a triumphant little smile that he wanted to wipe off her face quickly. "And I think it's time to take it up a notch."

That got her attention. "House, don't, what, where are you going?" Where House was going was to his bag of tricks to get another little present for her.

"Bet you can't guess what's in here," he said, shaking a wrapped package.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure I won't like it, so if you don't want to spend the rest of your life in the clinic wiping the noses of snot nosed little kids, you'd better just put that right back where you found it and untie me."

"Hmmmm." House cocked his head and thought about it. "I don't think I can do that." He started to unwrap the package slowly.

"I'm not kidding House." She thrashed around a little, until she realized he was enjoying it. "House. Untie me and we can pretend this never happened."

"I don't want to pretend it never happened." He pulled something long and swirly pink out of its box. He had asked ahead of time if it had batteries already and was told it did. Still, he turned the little knob at the bottom to make sure and jumped as it started up.

"You don't need that." Cuddy had never been dissatisfied with House's equipment.

"I know I don't NEED it." House walked over to her slowly. "I didn't NEED to tie you up. But I certainly don't regret it."

"You will." She tried to close her legs, not wanting to make it too easy for him, but he once again anticipated her move and jumped on the bed between her legs.

"I can't wait." He slipped the vibrator between her legs and slid it back and forth. He had never seen her from quite this angle and watched her face as the vibrator worked its magic. He fought the urge to tell her how beautiful she looked as pleasure washed over her and she shut her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted and she was starting to breathe heavily.

House leaned over and kissed her, long and hard. She responded easily, hungrily, her tongue slipping into his mouth the way she had slipped into his life, slowly, silently and without his consent. His hand brushed the hair out of her face while the other hand continued to grasp his new toy, slipping it in and out of her slowly, then quickly, experimenting with it as he watched the effect it had on her.

She started out tense and nervous, the vibrator rang loudly in the room and she thought about Rachel, hoping it wouldn't wake her, but as new sensations washed over her, she slowly released the tension and the nerves and fully embraced the experience.

She had entertained herself with such toys before, but it hadn't felt like this. It hadn't been coupled with House's warm, sweaty hands sliding over her skin or his hot breath on her neck as he nibbled at her flesh. When she was alone she couldn't quite get it at the same angle he held it now and had never thought to hold it just right so that she began to shudder with pleasure.

"You like?" He whispered to her in short breaths.

"I like," she moaned approvingly.

"Great." House stopped what he was doing and pulled himself off her. "I'm going to go make a sandwich. Want anything?" He was on his feet.

"You bas…."

"Shhhh, you don't want to wake the baby." He grinned from ear to ear.

Cuddy growled between gritted teeth, "you get back over here and finish what you started."

"Oh, did you want me to finish?" He was smiling so wide it was starting to hurt.

"You…" she smiled, she grimaced, she grumbled and thrashed a little. "Get back here…" House was pretending to walk away. "I'm warning you House…"

"Oh, you're warning me?" House turned and looked at her. Damn she looked hot. "I don't think I like your tone."

"If you don't come back here and finish what you started my tone is going to be the least of your worries." She was glaring at him so hard he felt his chest contracting a little.

"Are you threatening me Dr. Cuddy?" He was walking slowly back to the bed.

"Yes, and if you think I can't make good on my threats then you don't know me at all." It was impressive how menacing she was lying there naked with her hands tied over her head. It was also getting him very excited.

House started undressing quickly. "Oh, I know you can make good. So, just because you asked soooooo nicely, I'm going to finish what I started."

He had finished undressing and threw himself on top of her, the vibrator left forgotten on the bed beside them as he stroked his cock quickly, building it up to its full glory. "Why did you get Foreman that job?"

"You want to talk about work, now?" She could feel his manhood rubbing against her leg. It was hot and hard.

"I want you to answer my question." He was teasing her with his cock, letting it rub against her swollen lips playfully, almost tickling her clit as it slid across her. House was a man with an amazing amount of self control. It was driving him mad teasing her like this, but he knew the payoff would be great and so he would put up with the frustration for as long as she could.

"Ben was looking for someone to run his neurology department…."

"AAAAAA," House made an obnoxious buzzer sound, "wrong answer." He tickled her clit a little harder.

She squirmed beneath him. "I don't need him anymore." She knew it was pointless to hold out on him. House was a very stubborn man when he wanted answers.

"Because you've got Pike?" House was piecing it together as he pressed his body down on hers and sucked her neck. He found it helped him think. "He's going to spy on me for you."

"He's not a spy."

"I don't believe you." He bit her gently then pulled away.

"I don't care."

"You should care. I hold your orgasm in my hands." It sounded worse than he'd thought it would.

"I made you hire Oliver Pike so he could watch you."

"Spy."

"WATCH. He's not reporting to me unless you do something dangerous."

"He's spying on me."

She realized that yes, Oliver Pike was hired to spy on House. "Fine, you win, he's my spy."

"That's all I wanted to know." House sunk down on top of her, pushing himself into her slowly. He felt her body respond, her back arching slightly as her legs wrapped around his waist.

He thrust himself deep inside of her, with each thrust pushing toward the spot that would drive her wild. He wanted to make her scream. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would wake the baby sleeping so soundly in the other room, but there was something he found so satisfying in making her lose control; probably because Cuddy was always so in control, so put together, so organized and in charge. He had made it his life's duty to take her power away from her, to make her vulnerable, to make her need him.

She was already ripe from his teasing and it didn't take long for the slow, steady eruption to explode. She cried out, muffled into his chest, also cognizant of the baby in the other room. House felt her scream push into his flesh like a tsunami. It was an odd sensation, one he hoped to experience again some time, but not tonight. Tonight he was exhausted.

Cuddy cleared her throat as House was cleaning up the sticky mess between her legs. She rattled her arms to make her point. "You can get me out of this thing now."

"Yes, I could." House got out of bed and went to toss the facecloth in the hamper. "But do I want to?"

She was trying to think up the worst possible threat she could imagine when he walked over to her, bent down and kissed her so deeply her mind stopped working. She was so lost in that kiss she barely felt him fumble with her restraints and free her arms from their bindings. It was only when she felt her sleeping arms wrap tightly around his neck and pull him down on top of her that she realized she was free.

"Happy birthday," House mumbled into her mouth.

"It's not my birthday." She pulled away, letting him catch his breath.

"Well, Happy Thursday then." He pushed her lips open with his tongue as their mouths met once more.


End file.
